


The Forsaken

by LinkWorshiper



Category: Gundam Wing/AC
Genre: Fantasy, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-19
Updated: 2009-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-03 09:18:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 73,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinkWorshiper/pseuds/LinkWorshiper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><b>Title: <i>The Forsaken</i><br/>Author:</b> Link Worshiper<br/><b>Pairings:</b> 1=2, 3=4, maybe some others if I feel like it<br/><b>Rating:</b> PG-13<br/><b>Stuff:</b> Fantasy AU, fluff, sap, language, adventure, squick?, WoW nerdiness<br/><b>Disclaimer:</b> I own Gundam Wing action figures? Warcraft and its lore belongs to Blizzard Entertainment. Both things are being played with out of fangirl love.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. A Thief in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> **Title: _The Forsaken_  
> Author:** Link Worshiper  
> **Pairings:** 1=2, 3=4, maybe some others if I feel like it  
> **Rating:** PG-13  
> **Stuff:** Fantasy AU, fluff, sap, language, adventure, squick?, WoW nerdiness  
> **Disclaimer:** I own Gundam Wing action figures? Warcraft and its lore belongs to Blizzard Entertainment. Both things are being played with out of fangirl love.

**Title: _The Forsaken_  
Author:** Link Worshiper  
**Pairings:** 1=2, 3=4, maybe some others if I feel like it  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Stuff:** Fantasy AU, fluff, sap, language, adventure, squick?, WoW nerdiness  
**Disclaimer:** I own Gundam Wing action figures? Warcraft and its lore belongs to Blizzard Entertainment. Both things are being played with out of fangirl love.

Thanks to danse and Natea for the once over. Despite the fact this is part of Natea's birthday present, I still needed her to fill me in on the Alliance history they don't teach us on Horde, so thanks for that also =P

And another note for you people who probably cruised in here after I kind of wandered off this site: I have a website where all my fics are archived, and the URL is (the old , which no longer exists). In case you forget, it's all been updated on my user profile. I'm posting here to kind of make a sneeze about it, and I've written about 10 or so fics, some of which are kind of long, since I left , so there's lots to read. Maybe I'll post them here one day, since I know no one is reading this note.

*Edited a mistake in this chapter. Sorry for confusion. Treize = Arthas. Oops.

\--

Part I  
_A Thief in the Dark_

\--

In the darkness of the Silverpine Forest, Heero crouched in the shrubbery that lined the Sepulcher, blending in with the shadows around him. The leather of his jerkin and leggings creased uncomfortably against his skin as he shifted into a more comfortable position in complete silence, one hand ever-lingering upon the sheathed dagger at his hip. He peered through the gloom, through the twisted iron fence that lined the old graveyard: there were only a few undead guards wandering the perimeter, though with their diseased gait, it was hard to tell how watchful they actually were. Still, it didn't pay to be lackadaisical, he thought to himself as his other hand wandered to the pouch clinging to his belt, digging for a flask of poison to slather across his blade. He would make short work of this mission, steal the item and make it back to his guild's encampment down the road in less than an hour.

Finally ready to go, he pulled up his mask over his nose and mouth and retied the hood of his cloak more tightly around his neck before venturing from the safety of the wood and into the eerie graveyard town that was now overrun with Lady Catalonia's undead followers. It was strange to see the Sepulcher like this now, he thought as he crept along the broken iron fence, unseen. When he used to live in Dalaran, back before the betrayal of Treize had chased it into the sky, he used to escort his friend, Quatre, to this little graveyard town for priest training. Now, those bright days seemed like a distant memory.

One of the Forsaken stood watch near the Sepulcher's main gate. Heero dashed by him and slit his throat before he even had a chance to register what was going on. He fell to the ground and silently rolled into an open grave as a small commotion started to brew near the gate, the fallen guard aggravating the attention of the other undead watchmen that were stationed nearby.

He took the chance to dart across the rest of the graveyard, heading towards the old opened crypt that now served an orbital place of study for a small legion of Lady Catalonia's apothecaries. From this dark library, he was to steal the last fragment of a sigil he and his band of fellow rogues had spent the last month traveling across Azeroth in search of. He was not sure what powers the mysterious sigil held, but King Milliardo Wrynn himself had bid Heero to take his guild of bandits on this quest for the sake of the noble Alliance, and so he had accepted. He did not fully endorse the treaty councils Relena Proudmoore had hosted for the Horde Warchief Thrall, and was thus willing to investigate alternate means for achieving peace in Azeroth - at least for the Alliance, at any rate.

Under the cover of night, he slipped towards the fire lit stairs that descended into the crypt library, knowing that the moment he stepped into its warm glow, he would truly have to keep his wits about him. He had a vague idea of what he might find down below, but there was no telling if he really had a chance of surviving this particular mission. But dying for the Alliance was something he had prepared himself for the moment he had begun training as a fighter. Heero peered around the corner and into the tiny library, surveying it with the calculating eyes of the finest thief. There were four undead scholars, each clad in the robes of Lady Catalonia's Royal Apothecary Society, and three more Forsaken guards, who were lounging about the library as if they knew they'd scored themselves the easy post for the night. It didn't take him long to mark the location of the sigil fragment that matched the other four they already possessed; it lay almost carelessly on the table in the middle of the room, serving as a mere paperweight for a stack of yellowed enchanting formulas. A dark smirk formed on Heero's face: this would be like taking candy from a baby.

Without dallying a second longer, Heero leapt from safety and into the library, thoroughly startling all the Forsaken there. The four apothecaries were quick to abandon their studies and back themselves against the far wall, while the three guards clumsily fell into formation between them and Heero. Quick as lightning, Heero leapt across the table at them, his dagger bared and already slashing at the nearest Forsaken warrior, who dropped like a sack of bones almost immediately. In one fell motion, Heero turned on his heel, lifting his dagger and bringing it down upon the next undead guard, making equally short work of him and the soldier who stood after him. Then Heero snatched the sigil fragment off the table and squirreled it away in his hip pouch as he shot a warning glare at the four brooding apothecaries, who were murmuring in Gutterspeak amongst themselves. They seemed to come to some kind of consensus as Heero was slowly backing away. However, whatever course of action they had decided upon never came to fruition, for just as the first apothecary was about to make his move, Heero instinctively hurled his dagger at the undead scholar, where it soon found a new sheath in which to rust. The apothecary crumpled to the ground, no longer even undead, and his colleagues quickly rushed to his aid, while Heero hurried out of the crypt library as fast as his legs could carry him.

_Homefree_, he thought giddily to himself as he dashed for the safety of the woods that surrounded the Sepulcher; _I will be revered in Stormwind by King Milliardo for this show of valour for the Alliance_. But just as he was just about to dive through a hole in the bushes to the dark safety of the underbrush, he felt a chill around his heart, like a pair of claws had dug their way into his soul and was pulling him in the opposite direction. It was only then that he realized that a pair of ghostly, sapphire hands were closed around his chest, holding him fast. Heero's eyes darted about with wild fear as he tried to search out the master of this otherworldly being that had impeded his getaway. It didn't take long for the one matching such a description made himself known.

"Where are you running to with such fervor in this dark wood, rogue?" came a deep baritone that was gouged with the scratchy tones of the undead Forsaken. Heero's eyes widened fearfully as a powerful looking warlock materialized out of the gloom, his yellowed eyes glowing like twin lanterns in the night. His matted brown hair hung in tangles around his rotting face and fell in a long, knotted braid over one shoulder.

"It is none of your affair," Heero retorted snidely, certain that even the most polite of mannerisms wouldn't save him. He was fully aware that the Forsaken had no love for anything that still drew breath, and he shuddered to think what sort of torturous end this warlock had in mind for him. Turning his head away from the warlock, he snorted, "O, have this hellspawned minion of yours do what it will with me already. I am not afraid to die."

A slow smile that revealed a mouth full of decayed teeth spread across the warlock's face as a scratchy cackle fell through his stretched, white lips. It strained the leather stitches that barely held fast the rip extending from the corner of his mouth. "Humans, ever so amusing, even to the end," the warlock mused, lifting a bony hand that was only half covered in flesh to stroke his chin. "It is ironic that you and I would crave the same thing so desperately. What makes you think you have earned the right to the eternal sleep when I have been waiting an age to experience it?"

Heero whipped his head back to shoot a dastardly glare at the warlock for a comment that so belittled his want for a honourable death. In an instant, the warlock seemed to have been taken aback, as if startled. Heero was not slouch enough to miss the fact that despite being surprised, the warlock's ghost minion still held him fast. _He must have a great mana well_, he reasoned bitterly, more concerned with the warlock's power source than what had caused the upset in the first place.

The warlock seemed to be undergoing an attitude adjustment, eyeing Heero up and down as if he were trying to come to a personal decision about what he ought to do next. "You carry no weapons," he said at length, striding towards his captive warily. "What is your business here, human?" He reached out and boldly ripped back Heero's hood, revealing the ragged mop of chocolate hair it had been concealing, which he then ran a skeletal finger through curiously. Then he suddenly grabbed Heero by the chin, his bony digits cutting into Heero's jaw; "Speak true, rogue," the warlock warned, his tone suddenly dangerous once more, "or I shall not hesitate to sacrifice you in the name of the Dark Lady."

Heero frowned, his mind racing at the various options he had and completely unsure what the best course of action would be. He decided that the warlock was going to do what he would with him not matter what he chose, so he shrugged and said, "I was here to steal. I lost my dagger making my escape."

The warlock seemed to consider the comment before he snapped the fingers of his other hand, this one much more resembling of a human hand, though its colour was pale with deathly rot. The sapphire ghost minion that had been holding Heero fast vanished in a twist of blue smoke, carelessly dropping Heero to the ground with its departure. Heero fell to his knees, ripping his facemask from over his nose and mouth as he clutched his chest and he gasped for breath, suddenly aware that the ghost had sapped him of most of his strength.

"I believe you, rogue," said the warlock, who was staring down at Heero with that bemused smirk still adorning his twisted lips. "And because even I feel unease at the notion of killing someone who is unarmed - even if that someone is a filthy Ally - I will reward your honesty with allowing you to continue on your way." Then his apparent good nature fell away, and he added darkly, "But should I catch you sneaking about the Sepulcher again, I warn you now that I will not hesitate to kill you. Understand?"

Heero, still feeling winded, stared up at the warlock with disbelief. Part of him almost wanted to say something disparaging, but he knew that such idiocy would end in certain death, which simply would not do with his goal so near at hand. He swallowed deeply and then gave the warlock a curt nod before abruptly taking to his feet and dashing off into the night. He didn't once look back, not even to see if the warlock was still standing there, watching him go.

\--

When Heero came stumbling back into his guild's encampment, looking like Death warmed over, the others were all immediately at his side, certain that some terrible evil had befallen their brash leader. He shrugged them all away and slouched towards the low burning embers of the campfire that still smoldered between their little tents. Sitting, he wordlessly stared at the flames, thinking mostly to himself about the odd encounter he'd just had with that Forsaken warlock and how strange it was to know that a member of the Horde had allowed him his freedom. It made him question what they were doing there for the first time in his entire career serving the Alliance. What if he had just witnessed the kind of thing that Relena Proudmoore saw in the ranks of Thrall and his mighty Horde?

"Well?" came the voice of Otto, another Stormwind rogue in the loyal service of King Milliardo. "Did you find it?"

Heero faltered at the question, the hand that had automatically started to reach for his hip pouch hovering over the leather flap with uncertainty. He tapped the buckle that held the pouch fast, mulling over his recent musings once more. Perhaps assembling the pieces of this Epyon Sigil wasn't such a grand idea after all. Maybe completing this quest would end up hurting the Alliance more than aiding it. Even just the possibility made Heero think about relinquishing the final sigil shard in a completely different light.

"Was it not there?" came the voice of another fellow guildmate, this one a blond rogue by the name of Alex. He had a friend called Mueller who was quick to add, "Did we get faulty information about the sigil's whereabouts?"

It was the bother of all these constant questions that finally caused Heero to give in and relinquish his findings. Stuffing his hand into his pouch, he pulled out the granite hunk that glowed with the light of all the runes engraved around its edge. "It was there," he said simply, holding it out for whoever would take it from him. "Do what you will with it. My work is finished."

Alex impatiently snatched the shard from Heero's uncaring hand and thrust it towards Mueller, who was the lone mage that had come along with them on this journey. "Seal the magic," Alex commanded as if he had the authority to order other guild members around. "We will present King Milliardo with a viable tool he can use to crush the Horde once and for all."

Sadly, Mueller followed Alex's orders with the pathetic air of someone who allowed a so-called friend to push him around. He took the sigil shard from Heero and then announced to the rest of the guild, "I am going to perform the bonding ritual inside one of the tents. I beg you to not interrupt me, or the entire thing may as well be for naught."

Heero let out an annoyed grunt, unable to keep his thoughts straight with all this discussion around him. He stood up and told them he was going to go scout the coastline of Lordamere Lake, though the truth of it was that he wanted to find a quiet place to brood without the prattle of his somewhat idiotic guildmates there to distract him. He had a lot weighing his mind, and the thought that most of it was making him question everything he had ever believed in was a rather alarming shock he wanted to deal with as soon as possible. He was gone before anyone even had the chance to protest.

\--

It wasn't long before Heero was able to find a nice, isolated knoll a good enough distance from the encampment that he would be left alone, but not so far that he would be unable to aid his allies should something unfortunate befall them. Again, he dug through his pouch, this time in search of a small trinket his friend, Quatre, had given him before they'd parted ways so many years ago. It was a small, silver charm in the shape of an owl that Quatre had enchanted with his magic to serve as a sort of communication tool. Simply rubbing the charm would immediately connect him to the similarly enchanted trinket that Quatre carried with him at all times, even if they were oceans away from each other. Knowing that Quatre was the wisest person he would ever have the fortune of considering a friend, Heero rolled the owl charm between his palms, praying that Quatre's counsel would at least give him some peace of mind.

Within moments, a warbled, glowing ring of light that depicted Quatre's countenance all the way from Theramore hung in the air before Heero, even just the sight of the familiar face of his friend was enough to make him feel better. "What's wrong, Heero?" Quatre voice echoed dreamily through the communication portal. "You look deeply troubled."

"I'm fine," Heero answered, though it was clear by his posture and his tone that it was a thinly veiled lie. Quatre sent him a stern glare through the portal, and Heero relented. "My life was spared by a Forsaken tonight, Quatre," he confessed, desperate to get it off his chest. "But I don't know what that even means."

Quatre said nothing at first, instead taking a ponderous moment to look thoughtful. "I will not ask what new foolishness you are undertaking for Stormwind now, but I will say that I have heard tales that even the Forsaken can be prone to mercy," he mused aloud, tapping his lower lip. "Perhaps you were fortunate enough to have been caught by one who has been shown mercy by one of our own in the past."

"That... could be," Heero said slowly as he tried to decide whether or not that was plausible or not. "But they would kill and feast upon even one of their own Horde allies out of mere spite that they still have blood in their veins. They are a proud and selective brethren."

"They are no more proud than you, Heero Yuy," Quatre said glibly with a roll of his eyes, privately thinking that even Heero's elite training had not managed to quell the hot-blooded rashness that had fuelled him in his youth. There was a pause, and then Quatre asked, "Are you unnerved by the thought that your forsworn enemy is just as capable of pity as you?"

As usual, Quatre had been quick to see through to the heart of the matter. Heero supposed that was part of why he'd wanted to talk to Quatre at all, but at the same time, it was disheartening to think that he was so transparent. He said nothing and stared down at his boots.

"The Horde is not without honour, you know," Quatre said at length. "Even the dreaded Forsaken, freed from the wrath of the Lich King and yet still damned, are not without their reasons for their dark ways. We fear what we do not understand, and I think it is that lack of understanding that keeps the Alliance fearful of the Horde. The old wars are over, now, Heero; we live in a different world, and I personally think it's high time that the people of Azeroth begin to change with it."

"Thanks for the lecture, Quatre," Heero muttered moodily, "but I didn't call on you to hear you spout the trivialities you hear in Relena Proudmoore's court."

Quatre let out a very audible sigh, running his hands through his short, blond hair. Quatre knew Heero had never approved of his decision to use his priestly training to aid Relena Proudmoore's politics from her seat in Theramore, but his disdain for that was no less apparent than Quatre's reservations towards King Milliardo Wrynn's far brasher methods. It was a heated debate that they tried to avoid ever since they had nearly ended their friendship over it in their youth. At the time, they were each trying to settle upon where they each would best be of service to the Alliance, but their differences in worldviews had left the two friends at a crossroads. Still, it was impossible to keep a snide comment or two from loosening itself when it came to discussions such as these, and sometimes Quatre thought it a miracle of friendship that they hadn't dueled each other over such differences.

Quatre was jarred from his thoughts when Heero suddenly jumped to his feet as if there was something amiss near where he sat. "What now?" he wondered, confused by Heero's sudden alertness.

"Shh, I-" Heero hissed, his eyes darting around suspiciously. He thought he had heard some kind of commotion from the woods, but he hadn't been listening closely enough to pinpoint exactly where it had come from. He piqued his ears in hopes of hearing something else, and it didn't take long before he heard the sound of shouting a billowing fire coming from the direction of the guild encampment. Fearing the worst, he brusquely closed the communication portal with Quatre, and, stuffing the owl charm back into his pack, took off immediately for the place he had left his comrades.

At first, Heero had suspected that the undead warlock had sold him out and had brought a Forsaken hunting party into Silverpine to smoke them out. However, when he arrived at the camp, it was apparent such a thing was hardly the case. Instead of undead standing amidst the flames that had engulfed their camp, there was a large, shadowy form that seemed to be neither beast nor spirit. It had great hands with heavy claws that hung nearly to the ground and burning red eyes that glowed with the hatred. Heero hung back, watching the creature in fearful awe from the nearby shadows. It was obvious that the binding of the sigil had gone awry and that it was unlikely any of them had survived the calamity. Heero couldn't say for sure if it was the result of a miscast spell, since magic was an alien tongue to him, but if there was anything he _could_ be certain of was that the sigil had unleashed something truly horrible into the world.

And then, almost as if the demon had been wrought from some kind of unholy dream, it suddenly vanished, though where it had gone, Heero couldn't be sure. Amid the fire, which seemed to be dying without the shadow's presence there to fuel it, he could see the sigil still glowing beneath the burning remnants of one of the tents. Its light somehow radiated with the kind of temptation that had ruined the lives of lesser men. Heero frowned at it, hating its very existence for betraying the ones that had made it whole once more. Yet, he also knew it wouldn't do to leave it there for someone more irresponsible to come across by accident. Carefully picking his way through the patches of fire that still burned strong, he snatched the sigil up like a hot coal, tossing it from hand to hand to cool it down as he quickly made haste to get away before the fire garnered anyone else's attention.

He wandered aimlessly through the forest, at first careless of where he ended up as he tried to decide what he should do next. Going back to Stormwind didn't seem like a viable option at the moment, not only because of the distance, but also because he wasn't sure he knew how he would explain to King Milliardo what had just transpired. Such power would surely please His Majesty, Heero was certain, but considering the sort of reckless campaigns Milliardo Wrynn was famous for, Heero wasn't sure he was quite willing to simply hand over such a potentially destructive item. Heero then thought maybe it would be most prudent to figure out exactly what it was he and his comrades had found; he might feel more comfortable if he could at least be sure that the power of the sigil's creature wouldn't backfire and harm the Alliance. Somehow, though, he was already sure he knew what the answer to that speculation would prove to be. Perhaps the Horde had reasons for dashing it to pieces in the first place after all.

Unfortunately, as noted before, Heero was at a complete loss when it came to magic and spells, for it was not something that a rogue really had any use for. Quatre probably wouldn't be of much service without being able to physically examine the sigil, Heero reasoned, though he supposed another council with the clever priest might not be a bad route to take either. He came to a halt and leaned against a nearby tree, clutching his forehead in deep thought. He hated decisions that needed extreme mulling over; the lack of action was enough to drive him insane.

There was a shout from somewhere off in the distance, and Heero looked up at the sound, figuring that someone had discovered the remnants of the flaming encampment. Perhaps they were Forsaken, he thought, clutching the sigil tightly in one fist. Perhaps that warlock was amongst them....


	2. Strange Bargains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world of Azeroth is broken by war and politics, but upon becoming the vessel for an untamed demon, Heero Yuy quickly learns that things aren't as cut and dry as faction lines. With his only hope lying in two enemies, Heero is dragged into a whirlwind quest that will change his life forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Title: **_**The Forsaken**_**  
> Author:** Link Worshiper  
> **Pairings:** 1=2, 3=4, maybe some others if I feel like it  
> **Rating:** PG-13  
> **Stuff:** Fantasy AU, fluff, sap, language, adventure, squick?, WoW nerdiness  
> **Disclaimer:** I own Gundam Wing action figures? Warcraft and its lore belongs to Blizzard Entertainment. Both things are being played with out of fangirl love.

**Title: **_**The Forsaken**_**  
Author:** Link Worshiper  
**Pairings:** 1=2, 3=4, maybe some others if I feel like it  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Stuff:** Fantasy AU, fluff, sap, language, adventure, squick?, WoW nerdiness  
**Disclaimer:** I own Gundam Wing action figures? Warcraft and its lore belongs to Blizzard Entertainment. Both things are being played with out of fangirl love.

Thanks to danse and Natea for the once over. Despite the fact this is part of Natea's birthday present, I still needed her to fill me in on the Alliance history they don't teach us on Horde, so thanks for that also =P

Part II  
_Strange Bargains_

Elsewhere in the forest, a lone blood elf hunter by the name of Trowa Sunbender was creeping between the trees, a bow slung over one shoulder and a quiver at his hip. His traveling companion, a huge lion he called Heavypaw, padded silently alongside him. They were patrolling the area half out of duty, half in search of dinner, though so far, both things had proven fruitless. There had been a report in Undercity that there were Allies lurking in Silverpine, and as one of the best trackers found in Eversong, Trowa had been the one dispatched to see to the search and disposal of the pests. However, the scent of some strong magics lingering in the air was teasing at his senses and heavily distracting him from his mission. Inevitably, he found himself more drawn to the source of the magic than his task, though the deviation was something that might almost be expected of the magic-starved Sin'dorei.

Before long, Trowa and Heavypaw came across a ruined encampment in a small clearing of the wood. The fire that had decimated it still burned low, but when Trowa stooped to inspect it more closely, it didn't take him long to discern that the source of the destruction was more than just a simple campfire gone awry. With his keen senses and his taste for the arcane, it was easy for him to tell that what had happened here had been caused by some sort of dark magic. It stank of the kind of malice that he associated with the Burning Legion, he noted with a wrinkle of his nose. He wondered if that meant that it hadn't been Alliance intruders in Silverpine, but rather a band of Burning Legion loyalists wandering about instead. Idly running his hand through Heavypaw's mane, Trowa couldn't decide which one left a worse taste in his mouth.

Still, Trowa knew that the source of this unnatural fire was no longer in that encampment, and on the pretense of following through on his mission, he continued into the wood in hopes of finding the source. In actuality, he was hoping he'd be able to drink of whatever power he would find at the end of his hunt; it had been a long time since he had last fed on a magic that truly quelled his constant lust for it. The smell of the fire's magic had left a trail through the trees, which Trowa stalked with the ferocity of a starved man left to die in the desert.

When the magic's presence became its strongest, Trowa had to support himself on a nearby tree as a dizzy spell overtook him. From where he stood, he scouted the area, and it didn't take him long to catch sight of the one that was probably carrying whatever was driving his magic lust wild. He was relieved to note that it was a human Ally, who not only appeared to be unarmed, but also alone. He was thankful for that, since he wasn't sure he was in quite the condition to fend off an entire raiding party. With a nod at Heavypaw, he armed his bow and took aim at the unwary Ally, who was sitting atop a large boulder with his back towards the place where Trowa hid. As Heavypaw stalked towards the Ally, Trowa took aim and let his first arrow fly.

Despite the fall of red hair that swept over one of his eyes, his aim was true, and the unsuspected Ally roared in shock when he suddenly found Trowa's arrow buried in the back of his shoulder. At that moment, Heavypaw leapt from the underbrush and tackled the Ally from behind, pinning him to the ground as Trowa came stumbling out of hiding. He fell into a crouch next to the Ally, gripping the arrow and staring down at his captive with desperate craving. "Where is it," he gasped, now certain that the magical item was somewhere on this Ally's person. "Give it to me, and I might let you live."

"Give what?" the Ally growled angrily, not at all phased by the fact that he had a deep wound in his back and giant lion pinning him to the ground. His cheek was pressed against the dirt, but his eyes were still blue and sharp with ferocity.

"The magic - you have it, I know it!" Trowa snapped with equal impatience. He pushed down on the arrow in hopes of causing the human more pain. "An idiot human has no need for such things. Deliver it to me immediately!"

The Ally grit his teeth at the pain caused by the arrow, but he didn't relent as easily as Trowa had hoped. "I'm not so stupid that I don't know about the sick addiction you blood elves have," he spat uncordially. "I have heard that most of your kind falls to insanity in your quest for such fel magics."

The comment greatly angered Trowa, and it made him want to rip the arrow out of the Ally's back and drive it right between his eyes. "Don't speak of things you know naught of. You could never understand what kinds of trials my people face on a daily basis," Trowa said flatly, barely resisting the urge to follow through on that whim. Forcing himself to calm down, he said, "If you won't give whatever it is you carry of your own will, then I will take you prisoner and have my allies beat it out of you."

Already rummaging through his pack for a thong with which to bind his captive's hands, Trowa was imagining that the magic item would be his reward for bringing an Ally hostage to Undercity alive. Once he had tied the Ally's hands viciously behind his back, he nodded to Heavypaw, who backed off hesitantly. Trowa forced the Ally to his feet, keeping control over his prisoner with a nocked arrow at his back. "Walk," he commanded, pressing the tip of the arrow into the Ally's back and causing him to stumble forward a few steps. With a grunt, the captive grudgingly complied.

Being all the way back in Tirisfall, Undercity was a bit too far to guide a prisoner like this, Trowa decided, so he elected to bring the Ally to the Sepulcher, which was the nearest friendly town to where they were. Besides, he had a comrade there who would know what to do about this better than anyone, he reasoned as they continued on their way through the haunted trees. Trowa grinned at the thought of introducing this Ally to him, for his ruthlessness was famous amongst both the Forsaken and the Sin'dorei, and Trowa was honoured to consider him a close friend.

When the odd trio finally reached the edge of the Sepulcher, a few of the undead guards who had managed to survive the earlier onslaught on the town came running to Trowa to help secure the Ally captive. Most of them seemed to recognize him as the one who had just killed a good number of their friends, and they were shameless in their uncouth taunting now that the killer had been put in his proper place. Trowa was oblivious to all of this undercurrent, however, and he was quick to call for the company of the friend he had come to see. "Summon Duo Blackscythe," he demanded of the nearest Forsaken.

Moments later, the group had brought the Ally to the village inn and lashed him hand and foot to one of the chairs inside the derelict building. A few of the Forsaken guards remained to help Trowa keep an eye on the captive while they waited for Duo Blackscythe to receive the message that he had come to call. But when an all-to-familiar warlock stepped through the front door of the inn, Trowa was hardly able to greet his friend properly, for the Ally let out an unexpected hiss of anger at the mere sight of him. Trowa glared over his shoulder at the prisoner, just short of telling him to be quiet, but Duo's reaction to the sight of the Ally was probably just as strange. "You!" the warlock cried, striding right by Trowa and up to the captive with blazing eyes. "I thought I told you I would kill you if I found you in these parts again!"

"Take your chance, then," the Ally spat with a familiarity that confused Trowa greatly. He hung back with Heavypaw and observed, electing potential entertainment over his need for that magical item, which he was certain would come to him as an eventuality.

"Trowa, where did you _find_ this filth?" Duo asked of the blood elf, his brow crinkled unhappily. He turned back to glare at the Ally prisoner, grumbling mostly to himself, "This is what I deserve for showing such a wretch forgiveness. Let it be a lesson."

"_You_ showed forgiveness? To an Ally?" Trowa commented incredulously. He was now sitting on the nearby dining table, idly feeding Heavypaw scraps out of his supply pack. "When, and why hasn't the world stopped?"

"Shut up," Duo snapped, crossing his skeletal arm over his fleshy one as he continued to glare down at the Ally, who continued to glare right back. There was a pause, and then Duo said, "You know, getting caught twice in one day, you're probably the worst rogue in all of Azeroth."

At this, Trowa burst into laughter, careless of what the other two thought. Blood elves tended to do as they pleased, and most people didn't intervene with them - much. Scratching behind one of Heavypaw's ears, he turned towards Duo and the Ally and finally said, "He was asking for it. He has something that stinks of high magic, and I want it."

"Does he now?" Duo mused, still eying the Ally incredulously, though it was clear he was now even more intrigued than before. "I wonder why I didn't notice it the first time?" There was a certain tone in his voice that suggested that he already knew the answer to such a rhetorical question, but no one raised any comments about it. Instead, he flicked both his hands, shuffling his huge, indigo sleeves back down over his palms and asked, "You, human: where do you hail from? Stormwind? Theramore? Southshore, perhaps?"

"Why should I tell you?" the Ally sneered, obviously looking to rile his enemies up.

Duo's skeletal hand suddenly snapped forward, clawing a handful of the Ally's jerkin and impatiently yanking him as close to his face as the bonds would allow: "Because if you _don't_, I won't hesitate to let the elf tear you limb from limb in search of whatever _trinket_ you happened to slither across," he threatened icily, his empty, yellowed eyes flashing dangerously. "Don't cross me again, human. You are under _my_ control now."

The Ally frowned, obviously calculating that this wasn't the fight to pursue. Grudgingly, he muttered, "Dalar - ...Stormwind."

Duo arched his eyebrows at the slipup, but chose not to press the matter. Instead, he asked another question, his tone rather idle: "And your name?"

"Heero Yuy," the Ally mumbled almost too grumpily to be heard properly.

Stroking his chin, Duo looked rather thoughtful for a moment. Heero shuffled in his bonds and Trowa continued to wait impatiently, his finger drumming incessantly against the table he was perched upon. Each beat of his fingertips against the wood counted another second of the otherwise barren silence until, at long last, Duo spoke. "Very well, then. Heero Yuy, is it? Will you now confess what you have been lurking in Silverpine for?" he asked, eying him carefully before his tone took another sharp change in tone. "Because I'm no fool: there is no way a haphazard rogue that has been aimlessly wandering would be able to singlehandedly sweep through one of our rests. You are not without great skill and likely in the close service of that worm, Milliardo. Am I correct?" His voice was drenched in honeyed sarcasm at the mention of Stormwind's ruler.

Heero snorted tritely: "You seem to know the answer well enough without consulting _me_, warlock."

Duo smirked at his captive as he pulled one of the extra chairs away from the table and sat down upon it, leaning heavily on the elbow he bent over his knee. "And nary, I am aware of it. You are far too suspicious," the warlock grinned, knowing he had Heero pinned. "What is it you would ask of me?"

At this, Heero found a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, impressed that he had been so easily found out. Allowing the blood elf to capture him had been the surest way he would be brought to a place that might find him audience with this Duo Blackscythe. Between his conversation with Quatre earlier and all the events that had transpired that day, Heero had been fairly certain he would be able to convince Duo in particular to teach him about the sigil. So, to answer Duo's question, he replied tartly, "I am in need of someone well versed in the arcane. I am willing to overlook faction loyalties in order to barter such services from you, warlock."

At this, Duo's face lit up in the way a person's might when introduced to a new and amusing game. "Intriguing," said Duo, stroking his chin again before brushing his thumb over his lips and chomping down on the tip of it. "Tell me what you require, and I shall name you your price."

Heero's heart was thumping in anticipation, extremely overwhelmed by his good luck. But then he glanced over at the table, where he found Trowa staring back at him like he was the wrapping covering a delicious treat. Jerking his head in Trowa's direction, he quickly said, "Make the blood elf scarce, and we will discuss it. My business is not with him."

Duo frowned but was still complacent of Heero's terms. He turned to Trowa and gave him a dismissive nod of his head, which sent the blood elf moodily towards the door, his pet lion not far behind. "I assume whatever it is you need me for has to do with the thing Trowa smelt on you," Duo surmised as the door closed behind the hunter.

Privately, Heero was impressed by how quickly Duo seemed to latch onto ideas that might have otherwise drifted beyond the average person's head. However, he confessed none of that to Duo and instead cut straight to business. "Yes," he said, "and I would it that you will honour whatever deal we strike up by keeping him far away from it."

"I will make no promises on his behalf," Duo said with frank sincerity, though the way his wide, yellowed eyes were flickering suggested that he was eager to hear what Heero had to say about his magical dilemma. "Now speak."

So Heero took a deep breath and began to tell Duo about the quest his king had sent him on, careful to edit out the details that might compromise any of Stormwind's future tactics against the Horde. "I will assume you are aware of a runed sigil that was divided amongst the five tribes of the Horde," Heero began, all the while being sure to meet Duo's eyes straight on so that it was clear he did not fear him.

By the way Duo's eyes narrowed at the mention of such a thing, it was clear that he was all too familiar with the item that Heero spoke of. With his bony fist clenched and a frown creasing his rotten face, Duo interjected tightly, "The Warchief Thrall saw that the Epyon Sigil was destroyed so that its demonic magics would not rend Azeroth asunder. It would figure that Milliardo Wrynn would orchestrate a scheme to bind a power he knows nothing of." There was a pause as Duo took a moment to think, idly pulling at his tattered braid of hair as he did so. "Tell me, did you see the demon?"

"It killed my comrades and then vanished into the night," said Heero, unsure of what this could mean.

Duo let out a raspy sigh of relief, almost seeming to wilt in his chair at the thought of what other things Heero might have said concerning it. "Then it has not yet found a master, thankfully," he said, pulling at his braid with both hands now. "This means we still have time to destroy the sigil and banish it."

"What am I to do?" asked Heero.

"In a moment," Duo said, suddenly switching gears and waving his hand dismissively at Heero. "Now that I know what your problem is, I will demand my required price of you. If you are able to deliver me the item I seek, then I will tell you how to undo the disaster you have wrought." He added with a note of what might have been teasing playfulness, "And perhaps, if you are fortunate, I will help you."

Heero simply stared back, waiting for Duo to tell him what he wanted. At this point, he was willing to do just about anything to remedy this situation, for if what Duo said was true, then many more people than just his tiny guild would potentially die at the hands of the sigil's demon.

"It is fitting you hail from Stormwind," Duo went on at length. "I am told that deep within Stormwind Keep, there is a vial of a certain elixir that can remedy even the curse of death. I want that elixir, Heero Yuy. I want to be freed of this decayed flesh so that I might live amongst men once more."

"I will bring it to you," said Heero stoutly, even though he had no idea if such a thing truly existed within Stormwind's vaults. "Give me but a fortnight and I will return to you with the elixir."

At this, Duo let out a throaty laugh that wheezed in his throat. "You must think I'm completely stupid to let you travel all the way to Elwynn by yourself," he said, leaning forward in his chair so he could leer deridingly at Heero. "I do not care what you say about honour: I still would never trust an Ally to come back, and I most certainly do not trust _you_."

"I cannot say I trust you either," Heero rejoined with equal acidity. "But I still need you for your knowledge of this demon, so I will steal it for you - for the good of Azeroth, I will."

Duo rolled his eyes. "Your nobility makes me retch, human," he bemoaned. He stood up and lurched towards the window, peering through the cracked pane as if he were worried someone might have been watching them and then hastily drew the tattered curtain over it. Turning around to face Heero once more, he said in a low whisper, "But we can leave immediately, if you so wish. I can move you easily through Horde territory if only you pretend to be under my control."

Heero straightened up as best as he could while lashed to the chair, a look of pride riddling his expression. "I will do no such thing," he spat contemptuously with clear offense.

Duo was upon Heero so quickly, it was as if he had used some kind of magic to transport himself from one end of the room to the other. Slamming his hands down on the arms of the chair, Duo shoved his face up close to Heero's, growling, "Then we shall leave when you are killed and made Forsaken yourself."

Heero stared back at Duo belligerently, locking his gaze with the empty eye sockets that glowed with the magics that kept Duo's soul bound to his animated corpse. He had never been afraid of the undead, but there was something truly intimidating about Duo's presence - a mischievous unpredictability that put Heero on edge.

Just then, as the intensity of their stare down was starting to climax and Heero was wavering on giving in to Duo's demand, a strange look crossed Duo's face, almost like he might gag. He pulled back and lifted a hand to the side of his face, just beneath the fleshy hole in his cheek, from which a cockroach crawled out and skittered across his bony knuckles. Heero watched, horrified, as Duo carried the roach up to eyelevel and teased its antennae with the fingers of his other hand. "That is revolting," he grimaced as Duo continued to coo affectionately at the insect.

Duo glanced back at Heero with an arched eyebrow. As if he were insulted, he said, "You mean you don't want to pet my cock-?"

"Certainly not!" Heero interjected, definitely insulted now.

"...roach?" Duo finished, holding his hand out towards Heero as the insect ran in circles atop his palm. There was a definite smirk on his face, though, and it was in that expression that distinguished Duo as someone that Heero would have to tread carefully around. The dangerous smirk was gone almost instantaneously, however, quickly replaced with a frown of feigned upset: "You've insulted poor Asahi," he said, pushing the roach closer to Heero's face, clearly reveling in the way Heero was straining to stay as far away from the cockroach as his bonds would allow. "That simply will not do."

"You are intentionally inflicting this torture upon me," Heero accused with a glare that was blue and sharp.

"And you are being intentionally confrontational," Duo said casually as he allowed Asahi the roach a bridge from his hand to his shoulder. "I do not have to help you, you realize."

Cornered in more ways than one, Heero fell silent and hung his head, glowering angrily at the worn floorboards beneath his boots. More than anything, he hated the thought of having to sacrifice his pride, but he knew that if he was going to court this warlock's help, he would have to compromise himself, even if it meant having to become the his plaything. He growled under his breath, ruing the very thought of it, and at long last, looked up and said, "Very well; I will see to your terms. But I will warn you not to abuse such an arrangement, or I will be quick to forget our treaty."

Duo merely shrugged at the threat and replied, "It is you who suffers then, not me." With a click of his flesh-fattened fingers, the thongs that had kept Heero lashed to the chair fell to the floor. "Well, then, we'll be on our way to Undercity to prepare for this task of ours," he said, turning his back on Heero, already striding towards the door. "Keep your head down, your mouth shut, and follow me."

Hesitantly, Heero trod after the warlock, through the inn and back outside, where Trowa was loitering against an old mailbox. His posture suggested that he was indifferent to their presence, but that was hardly enough to fool either Heero or Duo. Heero took extra care to make his face look as blank as possible, figuring that if he could trick Trowa into thinking he was under Duo's control, then it would be suitable for slipping by other members of the Horde. He half listened as Duo briefly explained what was happening, though he did notice that the details regarding their deal were conveniently edited out of the version Duo told the blood elf. It was then that Heero finally paused to think if Duo had any ulterior motives of his own: the Forsaken warlock seemed to have agreed to this little romp almost too easily.

Meanwhile, Trowa seemed a little riled for no reason. It seemed that was just the sort of individual he was. "If he's your mind slave, then why haven't you ordered him to give me that magical thing yet?" Trowa demanded to know, obviously focused on only one thing.

"Because it's bound to him," Duo wrote off easily, though the answer wasn't entirely a lie. "However, part of the reason I am escorting him to Stormwind so he can infiltrate and steal me something that will separate it from him." His explanations continued to remain completely true while still telling Trowa absolutely nothing about the real nature of things.

"Is that what business he had with you?" Trowa asked, still not entirely convinced.

Duo shrugged, idly offering his pet roach a finger to climb onto. "He said he wanted to be rid of the magic's curse," Duo said as Asahi scuttled down the length of his finger and up his forearm. "He never specified how I should go about it."

Trowa smirked, clearly approving of this. "Enjoy hell," he said in a way that was meant to be complimentary.

"I already am," Duo rejoined with similar amusement. Again, he lifted a hand and snapped his fingers, though this time, he summoned no magic to his side, but instead, only Heero. "Come on, then, slave," he said in a way that clearly denoted how much he was enjoying this ruse; "We have much to attend to before our journey."

They had barely gotten to the edge of town, Duo leading the way and Heero following closely behind, when they realized that Trowa and Heavypaw were still attached to their heels. Duo held up a hand to indicate that they were stopping and turned around, crossing his arms as he looked Trowa up and down with trepidation. "Do you have nothing better to do for Silvermoon City than to follow us?"

Trowa's mail jerkin rattled as he reslung his bow over his other shoulder and scoffed, "You are my friend, and I know you well, Duo Blackscythe. Do you think I'm stupid enough to allow you to take that magic all the way to Elwynn without me? You would have it for yourself in an instant if I wasn't there to supervise!" He tucked a loose strand of red hair back into place and shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he added, "You made me a promise, and I will see it through."

At this, Duo simply laughed uproariously in Trowa's face, an unsettling cackle. "Then don't fall behind, elf," Duo said, turning on his heel and beckoning for Heero to follow him once more. "I'm not backtracking only to pick up your corpse."

TBC!!


	3. City Underfoot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Title: **_**The Forsaken**_**  
> Author:** Link Worshiper  
> **Pairings:** 1=2, 3=4, maybe some others if I feel like it  
> **Rating:** PG-13  
> **Stuff:** Fantasy AU, fluff, sap, language, adventure, squick?, WoW nerdiness  
> **Disclaimer:** I own Gundam Wing action figures? Warcraft and its lore belongs to Blizzard Entertainment. Both things are being played with out of fangirl love.

**Title: **_**The Forsaken**_**  
Author:** Link Worshiper  
**Pairings:** 1=2, 3=4, maybe some others if I feel like it  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Stuff:** Fantasy AU, fluff, sap, language, adventure, squick?, WoW nerdiness  
**Disclaimer:** I own Gundam Wing action figures? Warcraft and its lore belongs to Blizzard Entertainment. Both things are being played with out of fangirl love.

Thanks to danse and Natea for the once over. Despite the fact this is part of Natea's birthday present, I still needed her to fill me in on the Alliance history they don't teach us on Horde, so thanks for that also =P

Part III  
_City Underfoot_

Though he was being escorted by two of his enemies, Heero still couldn't get over how surreal it was to walk through Horde territory so freely. Since he was so used to creeping about wherever he went, striding down the open pathway was almost uncomfortable, even with the makeshift protection he had with him, and at almost every turn, he couldn't help but expect that something would leap out from the trees at him. Harder still was trying to curb that unease into a single, empty expression for the sake of keeping Trowa under the impression that he was Duo's mind slave. The very thought of such degradation was driving him mad.

Despite leaving the Sepulcher when the sky was still barely hinting at sunrise, it still took them a good portion of the day to travel north to Tirisfall. These haunted glades were a place Heero could definitely say he had never truly ventured himself, so it was almost forgivable that he could barely stifle a gasp when the ghostly spires of the Lordaeron ruins began to loom in the distance. The once proud walls of the decimated city, now crumbling and overgrown with weed and ivy, served as yet another monument to the corruption of Treize, who had once been the prince of this great kingdom. A chill ran down Heero's spine at the realization that he would soon be standing in the very place that had birthed so many of Azeroth's troubles.

"Are you sure this is really so wise? What if he remembers the way in and runs it back to his Alliance cronies?" Trowa commented from behind Heero as they began to draw nearer to Lordaeron. The crumbling pathway beneath their feet began to give way to stronger cobblestones, flanked on either side by gloomy banners that were emblazoned with the insignia of the Forsaken.

"He would be dead before he ever had the chance," Duo said, giving the side of Heero's face a rather sharp glare as they approached the outer curtain's rusted portcullis.

Truthfully, as they passed through the gatehouse, Heero couldn't say that the notion of using this guise as a chance to spy hadn't crossed his mind. It was common knowledge that the Forsaken had claimed the forgotten dungeons and crypts of Lordaeron as their capitol city, but the entrance was hidden somewhere amid the ruins and was a secret the Horde would carry to the grave. Besides, Heero reasoned further as they crossed the decrepit promenade, if he kept Lordaeron's secrets, perhaps Duo would, in turn, remain silent about the things he was sure to learn about Stormwind when they reached it.

The ruins were eerily quiet, though Heero couldn't shake the feeling that they were not alone. At the center of the bailey stood the remains of what was once a beautiful fountain, surrounded by uneven cobblestones and broken lumber. A series of makeshift bridges that were constructed of heavy planks spanned across places where the ground had caved in, the largest of which led right up to the castle keep. Still certain that they were being followed, Heero began to trail behind the others, who strode confidently towards the keep with the familiarity of ones who had walked the same route hundreds of times.

Daring to break his cover for a moment, Heero glanced back over his shoulder, sucking in a breath when he caught sight of a single ghost lingering on the edge of the fountain. It looked up at Heero and started at him with empty, sad eyes before fading away. Heero quickly whipped his head forward again, determined to forget what he'd just seen. Instead, he was gripped with an immobilizing fear when he realized that eight more ghostly shades had now materialized in front of him. He couldn't tell if they were yearning for him as their pale hands reached for him, or if they were trying to strike at him with malice. Still, he couldn't allow himself to fall too far behind, so he grit his teeth, closed his eyes and pressed onwards after Duo and Trowa.

He hurried down the abandoned passageways, not entirely sure if he was going the right way. The ghosts continued to drift after him until he reached a long, open-aired corridor that was lined with mossy statues and littered with dead flower petals. He stopped halfway down the hall to glance back once more, almost more uncomfortable with the fact that the ghosts had stopped following him. But the notion was soon forgotten, for he soon found himself entranced by the glow emanating from beyond the doorway at the end of the hallway. As he approached, he imagined he heard the faraway tones of the castle bells rejoicing in the towers.

It was as if an otherworldly force was beckoning Heero there, and upon entering, he realized that he had come across the place where Treize, possessed by the Lich King, had murdered his own father and betrayed his kingdom. The abandoned throne still stood at the back of the circular chamber, and it chilled Heero's very soul to note that the blood of the king still stained its cushions. Despite the mildewed curtains that hung around the walls of the drab chamber, the Alliance crest fixed into the floor stones still seemed to radiate with its own light. Heero dropped his head out of respect, deciding it appropriate to pay some kind of homage to the former King Terenas Kushrenada.

_"My son...."_

A whisper echoed through the room, jolting Heero from his solemnity. He glanced around the room fearfully, determined that his imagination was simply playing tricks on him.

_"My son, what is this you are doing?"_

He could still hear the aged words reverberating throughout the chamber. It was as if the spirit of Terenas had been chained to the very floor of the room, a realization that caused Heero to hastily back away from the glowing Alliance insignia beneath his feet. Surely these halls were a ghostly tomb, but Heero was suddenly fearful that he might be drawn in by some kind of corrupt power if he lingered much longer. He had never been one for stories, but he feared the memory of Treize and what he had become.

_"I am... succeeding you... father...."_

Unable to take much more of this haunting, Heero let out an uproarious scream that sent Duo and Trowa hurrying back from the hidden passages that laid beyond the throne room. They seemed to stumble out of nowhere, emerging from a hidden doorway tucked away behind the throne. "What in the name of the Sunwell is _this_?" Trowa groused as they approached Heero, who was frozen in one spot with shaking hands and glazed eyes. He turned to Duo and added icily, "I told you this was a bad idea."

"Shut _up_!" Duo snapped, not even bothering to turn around and grace Trowa with a look. He circled behind Heero and laid a hand on each of his shoulders in an effort to ground him back into tangible reality. "They cannot hurt you," Duo murmured into Heero's ear as his mismatched hands slid down the length of Heero's arms. "Nothing here will hurt you."

The sound of Duo's voice, raspy as it was, certainly did to calm Heero down. He alleviated himself with a series of even breaths, thankful that the voices of Treize and Terenas had faded away. Schooling his features once more, he hoped that he hadn't compromised his arrangement with Duo before it had even really begun.

"Stupid humans, always so terrified of that which they don't understand," Trowa muttered, turning on his heel to walk back the way they'd come. He hardly shared the same love of games that Duo did, finding the prospect of toying with a prisoner like Heero exceedingly dull. He would have much preferred a more direct course of action, and sometimes wondered why he put up with it.

Duo was following not far behind, propelling Heero forward with a tug of his wrist. "Maybe he is terrified of what he already knows too well," Duo commented glibly as he pulled Heero along, dragging him through a concealed archway and into a sloping passageway. "Treize was one of his own: perhaps he fears a weakness he understands all too well."

Heero had to bite the insides of his cheeks to remain silent, certainly not appreciative of having two people talk about him while he was still in their presence. At the same time, there was nothing to contest in Duo's statement, as he had rather astutely pointed out exactly the thing that had bothered Heero's conscience the most.

"The same might be said of you, then," Trowa rejoined sharply as he led the way further beneath the castle. He spoke as if he knew his comment would silence Duo: "After all, were you not the one who thirsted so readily for vengeance after your brother was lost?"

Duo said nothing, but Heero could tell that Trowa had stabbed at some kind of weakness by the way Duo's hand tightened fiercely around his wrist. They continued on in silence, guided by the flicker of the iron lanterns suspended on the walls. After what seemed like an endless journey, the pathway leveled out beneath their feet and came to an abrupt end in a tiny, round vestibule. There, they found Heavypaw waiting for them, his tail twitching across the floor in an impatient manner that so echoed his master's demeanor.

Once they were all crowded in the small space, Heero again had to suppress a yelp of surprise when the floor suddenly plummeted beneath them. It took him a few moments to realize that they had been standing on an enchanted platform that was now carrying them even further underground. At least he now knew why Undercity remained so inaccessible to people who didn't know how to look for it, though at this rate, it was doubtful he would live to tell the tale.

The platform slowed at the bottom of the chasm, settling in an arrangement of mammoth tusks that somewhat resembled an open flower. A door magically released and slid back, jarring the silence of the ruins above with the hubbub of the bustling undead metropolis, Undercity. Almost too overwhelmed to move of his own accord, Heero allowed Duo to keep pulling him along as they stepped off the elevator and into the city proper.

Undercity was a vast labyrinth the Forsaken had engineered out of Lordaeron's catacombs and dungeons after they had seized it from the control of the Scourge, the Lich King's own undead army. The Forsaken themselves were only a small band of undead that had been wrested from the Lich King's control by the Lady Catalonia, who, herself, had been resurrected as a banshee slave to the Lich King until she had managed to regain her free will. Now allied with the Horde, she sought to cleanse Azeroth of all that would oppose her and her followers - beginning with the one who had woken her from the grave.

Passing through the cavernous tomb that served as Undercity's central hub, Heero knew he was being stared at from all sides. There were more undead gathered in this one place than Heero had ever seen in his entire life, all going about their daily business in a civilized fashion that was surreal to Heero. It was then that it truly struck him that there was no margin for error with this guise, and whether he liked it or not, he was safest at Duo's side.

As they crossed a footbridge that spanned a wide river of sewage, Trowa turned back to inform Duo that he was going to find someone to repair his damaged armour. "Then I have to report to Lady Catalonia and the Silvermoon ambassador in the royal quarters," he said, not bothering to mask his pride that he was allowed such an audience. "Do not send for me until you are ready to leave - and dare not try and steal away without me, either!" He glared at Heero suspiciously, eying him head to toe with disgust before abruptly marching on his way.

Duo was shaking his head hopelessly after his elfin friend, thoughtfully poking his tongue through the tear in his cheek. "By the time we're ready to depart, he will have had a day or two to get over himself," Duo muttered under his breath, partly for Heero's benefit as he dragged him onward.

The place Duo was taking Heero was a section of the city known as the Apothecarium. It was there that Duo and the other members of the Royal Apothecary Society lived and studied, and it was there that Duo intended to make his own preparations for the long journey ahead. Heero, for his part, continued to struggle with keeping his eyes from wandering as they strode by tables covered with alchemists' equipment and bookshelves crammed with tomes that were probably hundreds of years old.

They had managed to go quite some way without interruption until they were passing through a corridor lined with doorways to private studies and were stopped by a hunched Forsaken walking in the opposite direction. His face was heavily scarred and his white hair poofed out on all sides, sort of like a mushroom cap. "Ah, young Master Blackscythe, welcome back," he greeted Duo as amiably as his creaking voice would allow. "I take it you found the Sepulcher's library of use?"

"You could say that, Professor," Duo answered airily.

The elderly Forsaken cast an assessing glance at Heero, and it made Heero feel as if he was being peeled apart. "You haven't been neglecting your research, have you?" the professor said, shooting Duo a very particular glare.

Duo frowned, sounding very offended as he snapped, "Have I ever let you down before, G?"

"No, but...." The professor shot Heero another strange look and then said ambiguously, "You always were the sort to get... distracted...."

Duo's decrepit features stretched into a snide expression: "Thanks for your unyielding confidence, Professor," he said sarcastically. Marking that as the end of the conversation, he lifted a finger and snapped for Heero as he started to continue on his way. Heero dared not glance back at the old Forsaken professor as he quickly trotted after Duo, completely unsure of what to make of the exchange. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more that Duo had not yet told him.

Soon, Duo stopped in front of one of the doors and conjured a large key from the depths of his robes. Opening the heavy door, he ushered Heero inside before closing it and hastily locking it behind them. "No need to work so hard at appearances while we're in here," Duo said as he moved to sit at the large, oaken desk pushed into one corner of the room. "This place is where I can be alone."

Heero let out a grunt of acknowledgement as he took in his new surroundings. The room was obviously once a private burial chamber that had been refurnished to suit the purposes of a study. The wall by the door was lined with bookshelves, with stacks of extra tomes half hidden by a heavy curtain that hung decoratively in the corner. A niche in the stone that had once lodged a corpse was now home to more alchemy equipment. Heero also noted that despite all the personal flourishes in the room, there was no bed, and it occurred to him that the undead probably never had to rest. "Who was that man?" he asked as he sought a place to sit down.

"My mentor," Duo answered simply as he fished through one of his desk drawers. "I've known him forever - even when I was alive. He was... my father's friend." Slamming the drawer shut and yanking out another, Duo chuckled a bit and added, "I suppose he meant to imply something about you. Perhaps you are luckier that it is only now that we are meeting one another." He paused long enough to cast his lamp-like eyes at Heero, their emptiness somehow more piercing than any other gaze Heero had ever endured, and said, "Had this encounter befallen us while I was still lived, you might have found yourself lashed to the headboard instead of that chair." The subsequent chuckle that followed was nothing short of lecherous and maniacal.

Heero had a multitude of things he wanted to say to that comment, but he settled for another grunt, acknowledging to himself how it was sometimes hard to remember that the undead weren't always so. Vaguely, he wondered where Duo had grown up before he had become Forsaken. He had to surpress the urge to ask about it, though, for he had a feeling that Duo was incredibly touchy about the life he lead before he'd died and how different his existence was now. Admittedly, he supposed he would feel the same if he had befallen the same fate, so he said nothing.

Meanwhile, Duo seemed to have found what he was looking for in the depths of his desk. He laid a leather bound journal on the desktop and started flipping through the yellowed pages. "I know I made notes about that sigil you idiots forged," he was muttering under his breath, mostly to himself as he skimmed through the journal. Asahi, the cockroach, had scuttled down Duo's arm and was running in circles on the desktop as if he meant to help Duo find what he was looking for, and with a twitter of his antennae, he called Duo's attention to a particular page in the notebook. Pausing to read more carefully, Duo muttered a thanks at the insect and then started making notations on a nearby scroll of parchment. "An enchanted thorium blade?" he said to himself; "If we pass through Searing Gorge to collect the metal, we'd have to find someone to forge it for us... and someone versed in holy magic...."

"I know a priest of Elune," Heero spoke up, immediately thinking of Quatre.

But Duo waved him off, already far more entrenched in his own plans. He had unearthed a map of Azeroth's Eastern Kingdoms and was bent over it intently, already trying to decide the best route to take. Asahi was trying to help by running up and down the map in a straight line between Lordaeron and Stormwind in the south. Absently, Duo said to Heero, "Why don't you make yourself useful and start gathering the things we'll want to bring with us." He tossed a careless hand in the general direction of a coffin that was being used as a chest instead of its traditional purpose.

Though Heero would have liked to oversee whatever plans Duo was hatching, he didn't protest. He found a leather pack inside the coffin and pulled it out, hoping that the things he thought to fill it with were the same sorts of things Duo would consider useful. He wasn't sure he wanted to experience Duo's wrath firsthand; his intimidating personality was trial enough.

The haste with which they prepared for the journey might have been overlooked as careless in any other situation, but Duo was insistent that they had very little time to waste with the sigil's demon on the loose. By nightfall, Heero and Duo were already getting ready to meet up with Trowa before heading out on their way.

"It will be suspicious if I give you a new weapon while we remain here," Duo said as he shouldered his favourite staff, a magic rod topped with a purple crystal that glowed. "I will find you something else when we are further from this place."

Heero accepted this logic, supposing it would make no sense for someone's brainwashed servant to carry his own dagger, but it still made him nervous to think that his safety would generally be in the hands of Duo and that disagreeable blood elf. Things seemed to be going according to their arrangement so far, but Heero was never one to assume that smooth sailing meant there was no chance for stormy weather. If anything, the ease with which things were proceeding just put him more on guard. _They are still Horde, and the Horde is still my enemy_, Heero kept thinking.

"We will keep Trowa under the predisposed impression, even when we are traveling," Duo went on, holding out the leather pack, which had since been stocked with rations, potions and coin, for Heero to carry. "The Sin'dorei have even less use for your kind than we do. It will serve you better in the long run if he thinks you are mine, believe me."

Taking the pack and strapping it to his back, Heero responded drolly, "Your consideration for my well-being is astounding."

"Not as astounding as the consideration I have for my own," Duo retorted as he moved to open the door. "Now shut up and do as I say, and you might actually survive this strange circumstance."

Uncaring if Duo had always been so cynical, Heero gnashed his teeth with displeasure at such treatment and kept the scowl on his face even as he followed Duo back into Undercity's twisting thoroughfares. He thought that Duo's survival would be just as impressive as his own if this kept up all the way to Stormwind. He idly thumbed the belt pouch he had stashed the cursed sigil in, reminding himself for what seemed to be the hundredth time that this ordeal was for the good of all Azeroth.

Aboveground, Trowa and Heavypaw were waiting for Heero and Duo in the gatehouse of old Lordaeron with no shortness in impatience, which Trowa was sure to demonstrate with a glare as they approached. Heero wondered how much of it had to do with the blood elves' insatiable appetite for magic and how much was just leftover baggage that Trowa was toting around. Then again, Heero supposed if he had been alive for hundreds of years and endured some of the things Trowa was sure to have, he couldn't say that he wouldn't have turned out the same way.

"We shall backtrack through Silverpine and head towards the Alterac Mountains," Duo announced, immediately taking the lead. Trowa and Heavypaw immediately fell in step after him, and Heero brought up the rear, not about to let that elf anywhere behind him.

Things were relatively quiet as they made their way back towards the Silverpine Forest. A few warg pups ran across their path once or twice, but that hardly yielded much excitement. Duo idly mentioned that he'd like to make it back to the Sepulcher by nightfall, and at the rate they were going, it seemed like they would most certainly meet that goal. But listening to the itinerary Duo had mapped out, Heero figured that they should enjoy this calm while it lasted, for some of the regions they would have to cross would not make for leisurely passing even on a good day.

As the path they were following rounded Lordamere Lake and started to wind its way into the wood, Trowa started rummaging through his hip pouch, fishing around for a small bit of jerky. Pulling it out, he started chewing on it and asked Duo around mouthfuls, "Do you ever have to feed your human?"

Duo didn't even stop to cast Trowa a glare. "I suppose the wisdom of the ages takes more than three hundred and forty years to settle in," he answered sarcastically. After pausing for a few beats, he suddenly exclaimed, "Of course I do! Share some of that dried pig of yours." He made shooing motions at Trowa with his bony hand.

"What, you didn't pack your own pet food?" Trowa sneered back, clearly not keen on this suggestion. He was eying Heero in a way that made Heero wish he could just pull his fist back and launch it right between the elf's green eyes.

"No one asked you to come along on this journey," Duo retorted with flashing eyes. "If you're not going to contribute, you can turn around and march right back to Silvermoon City."

Trowa's reaction was schooled, making it hard to tell exactly what he thought of Duo's comment as he dug into his pouch for more jerky. He shoved a piece in Heero's direction that seemed purposefully smaller than the piece he'd taken for himself, but Heero wasn't about to complain. Still trying to act as soulless as possible, he took the jerky from Trowa and mechanically began to chew on it, all the while wondering if the undead ever had to eat.

Returning to the Sepulcher and parading across the graveyard as plain as day was another surreal experience for Heero, and he found it difficult to keep his bland expression in check while his instincts were screaming at him to cut and run for the cover of the forest. He wasn't sure why he was having such a hard time shaking that restless notion, which somehow seemed to grow beyond the simple explanation of being unused to the company of his enemies. In the end, he supposed he might just be tired.

"Are we breaking here for the night?" Trowa asked, wrinkling his nose as he followed Duo towards the familiar, old inn.

"I am told the ground is also comfortable," Duo said sarcastically from the doorway of the inn, obviously not pleased that Trowa seemed to enjoy questioning his authority over their trip. "Or we can just keep walking, if you'd rather. I'm not one for sleep anymore."

Heero was surprised to hear Trowa let out a rather good-natured grunt at this rejoinder, and even more so to see the blood elf amiably pat Duo on the shoulder as he also entered the inn. The apparent complexity of their friendship struck Heero for its similarities to his own friendship with Quatre, though it was something he wasn't quite sure he could take solace in. He was still having a hard time seeing the Forsaken, the blood elves and the rest of the Horde as a body of people instead of an adversary that needed to be quashed.

While negotiating with the undead innkeeper for nightly lodgings, Duo beckoned for Heero to come stand near him. There was a pretense that Duo had simply needed to fish a few gold pieces out of the pack that Heero carried, but there was something in Duo's behaviour that Heero couldn't help but call protective. Either Duo still possessed some notion of responsibility from when he was alive, or he was just that fixated on having that Stormwind elixir. _That, or he simply doesn't trust me alone_, Heero thought with further pessimism.

With a room secured for the night, Heero, Duo, Trowa and Heavypaw retired for the night. Trowa cast aside his bow and quiver and collapsed onto one side of the large double bed almost immediately, careless of the fact that the mattress was old and the linens moth eaten. Heero had a bit more reservation climbing into such a bed, but he had roughed it outside enough times to know that he should be thankful to sleep in one whenever he could. He sat down on the edge of the mattress, all the while casting an uneasy eye at the comatose blood elf as he tried to decide if it was safe to act a little more like himself.

"When he sleeps, he sleeps," said Duo from a chair by the window, nodding at Trowa. He was absently petting Heavypaw's mane, apparently not bothered by the fact that Trowa's pet would witness the truth about Heero's state of mind. "Even the proud Sin'dorei need rest, I suppose," he went on conversationally as Heero went about removing his boots. "Though I couldn't tell you if it was because they get tired like humans do, or if it is the poisoned Sunwell that causes such fatigue."

"The Sunwell?" Heero dared to wonder aloud, his voice scratchy from a day of disuse.

"After they were exiled from Kalimdor by your night elves, the high elves created a pool of arcane energy with a vial of water drawn from the Well of Eternity from which to draw their power," Duo explained as briefly as he could. "But since Treize attempted to use the magic of the Sunwell for his own purposes, it was weakened and poisoned, and after generations of relying on its power to feed their arcane addiction, the elves of Quel'thalas cannot survive without it."

Heero had a brief understanding of elfin history thanks to Quatre, who had daily association with the few remaining high elves that had found refuge in Lady Relena's court. He had known that there had been some rift that had differentiated the last of the high elves from those who now called themselves blood elves instead, but he hadn't realized that the name alluded to yet another tragedy left in the wake of Treize's conquests. He supposed it would stand that the elves that had abandoned Silvermoon might present a biased account of things, but it was amazing what a difference it made. Heero cast another glance at Trowa, this time feeling a little more empathy towards him. He had always written off the blood elf lust for magic as some kind of insatiable addiction, never before knowing that it was actually a matter of survival for their kind.

"Is that why the blood elves hate the Alliance so?" Heero then wanted to know. "Because they harbour some notion of betrayal?"

Now gazing out the window, Duo simply answered, "Go to sleep, Heero." The warlock seemed to have suddenly taken a heavy thought to mind, and it showed even in his deformed face. Heero knew when a line had been drawn and said no more as he laid back against the mattress, this time less hesitant to let his guard down around Trowa. For some reason, he trusted that Duo would keep a watchful eye out in case harm found its way to their door.

**TBC!!**


	4. Possession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Title: The Forsaken**

**Title: The Forsaken**

**Author:** Link Worshiper

**Pairings:** 1=2, maybe some others if I feel like it

**Rating:** PG-13

**Stuff:** Fantasy AU, fluff, sap, language, adventure, WoW nerdiness

**Disclaimer:** I own Gundam Wing action figures? Warcraft and its lore belongs to Blizzard Entertainment. Both things are being played with out of fangirl love.

Thanks to danse and Natea for the once over. Despite the fact this is part of Natea’s birthday present, I still needed her to fill me in on the Alliance history they don’t teach us on Horde, so thanks for that also =P

_Part IV_

_Possession _

Heero was awoken the next morning by a cuff against the side of his head. He opened his eyes to find Duo looming above him, still dressed in the same robes he had been wearing the day before. He had his staff strapped to his back like he was ready to walk out the door right away, which drove Heero to rouse himself quickly. Trowa sat on the other side of the bed, girding himself in the mail shirt he wore underneath his tabard, so Heero made sure to keep quiet.

“I would like to make it to Tarren Mill by nightfall,” Duo was saying, mostly for Heero’s benefit. “There’s a little hidden pathway through the Alterac Mountains that will ensure a quicker passage than having to go all the way around.”

“You are quite the slave driver,” Trowa commented, pulling on his boots. “One would think there was something you were trying to escape with such haste.”

Duo balled his fists and gnashed his teeth with impatience. “I thought I explained to you that the Epyon demon will try and assimilate with the one who is bound to the sigil,” he snapped, clearly annoyed that he had to repeat himself. If the shape of Duo’s ears hadn’t indicated otherwise, Heero might have guessed from his attitude that he had been a blood elf in life as well.

Trowa twisted around on the bed so he was facing Duo. “Then why don’t we just kill him and be done with it,” he suggested flatly, nodding at Heero’s turned back.

Duo looked short of having a tantrum as he shook his clenched fists at the ceiling, his nose turned up towards the rafters. “Because that wouldn’t get rid of the demon, _would it_?” he lamented before assailing Trowa with a dastardly stare. “And don’t think I don’t know what you had in mind, Trowa Sunbender: keep in mind that taking that sigil for yourself would just make the demon want to hunt _you_ instead. Unless, of course,” he added with a dastardly chuckle, “you were interested in finding a way to seize the power of the Burning Legion for yourself.”

Heero’s stomach lurched, and he had to bite his lip to keep from letting a concerned yelp reach his tongue. Instead, he just stared up at Duo with a particularly wide-eyed expression, his mouth contorted into a sickly frown – a silent demand for further explanation. The knowledge that the demon King Milliardo had bade them to seek was a minion of the Burning Legion made Heero question further the intentions of his lord: of what use to the Alliance would be the summoning of a creature whose aim was to return the world to chaos?

Duo caught Heero’s stare, but he directed his response to Trowa, who still seemed to be more concerned with the immediate satisfaction of his arcane lust than the broader repercussions of such carelessness. “Did you not know that the way the Warchief Thrall even came into the possession of Epyon was by seizing it from a band of Burning Legion loyalists that had been scheming right beneath his seat in Orgrimmar?” Duo asked dismissively. “He had it destroyed with the same blade that then took off the heads of those who had betrayed the Horde!”

But Trowa just blinked back at Duo with his sleek, catlike eyes, only able to respond with: “My, my, so truly different from the rest of the Forsaken.”

Duo frowned again, sensing that Trowa’s comment extended beyond the superficial difference in opinion about what should be done with a powerful relic such as the one they now had in their possession. Still, he thought that if Trowa was going to give him trouble for honouring the alliance the Forsaken had forged with the western Horde more than the rest of his people did, then he would blithely ignore it. Perhaps it was his particular outlook on things that had led him to find admiration for Thrall and his allies, whom the Forsaken and the blood elves held in such contempt, and he wondered what it would be like to retain such a respect for orcs, trolls and Tauren if ever he managed to return to his human life at the end of this journey. It was such times that he felt so thinly spread in his loyalties, like butter over too much bread.

The finality with which Duo then snapped his fingers for Heero to get ready made the rogue glad that all he had to do was put on his boots and cloak. Shouldering the supply pack, he quickly hurried after Duo, who had already left the room, taking care to keep his head down. There was something in the easy way that Trowa spoke about demons and killing that put Heero ill at ease.

When Heero reached the bottom of the stairs, he found Duo settling up another tab with the innkeeper. As if he knew that he was there, he blindly beckoned for him to come over. Duo took a few more gold pieces out of Heero’s pack and soon replaced them with a bundle of foodstuffs he had bartered out of the innkeeper for Heero’s personal health. Heero’s instinct was to thank Duo for such bounty, but he was getting rather good at catching himself before he slipped up. Regardless of their cover, he wasn’t sure Duo would have appreciated the courtesy anyway.

With that business over with, they moved to sit down at the long dining table that also occupied the room. Sensing that Heero was probably hungry, Duo took the pack and made a production out of offering his mind slave a hunk of bread for breakfast, all the while grumbling about how blood elf men were almost as bad about getting ready as their women.

“I swear, you Forsaken run the slummiest towns,” came Trowa’s voice at long last, announcing his presence as he descended the stairs. His appearance was pristine and regal, but Heero could tell that he was disapproving of his looks.

As per usual, Duo had a criticism of the Sin’dorei for every complaint Trowa had about the Forsaken: “And _I_ swear, you blood elves are possibly the vainest creatures to ever draw breath,” he retorted, forcing his tongue through the stitches in his cheek so it hung through the hole in the most disgusting of manners.

Trowa merely wrinkled his nose at the display, almost as if he were used to such crudeness, and instead just headed for the inn’s front door, Heavypaw not far behind. Duo pulled his tongue back into his mouth and smirked triumphantly at Trowa’s receding back as he stood. “Keep tabs on this, slave,” he said to Heero as he started after Trowa. “I want to be able to rub a numerical score in that elf’s face when we reach journey’s end.”

Heero nodded, but refused to stoop so low as to actually refer back to Duo as his master. Hefting the supply pack once more, he followed Duo outside, and soon, they were on their way.

This time, when they left the Sepulcher, they headed southwest, towards the Alterac Mountains, which separated Silverpine Forest from the Hillsbard Foothills and the Arathi Highlands. Their march towards the mountains remained uneventful, though Heero was glad to note that the gloom of the wood had started to cull itself as they ventured onwards. Before long, Duo, who was leading the way, deviated from the path and started to cut through the forest. The others followed him without protest, though Heero was sure to take stock of his surroundings as they went: if there really was a shortcut through Alterac, he wanted to make sure he remembered it.

The Alterac mountain range was hewn of gray rock and shot abruptly into the air at the edge of the wood, separating it from neighbouring lands with walls of jagged granite. Once nestled between these great hills and the southern shore of Lordamere Lake, Dalaran had seemed like an impenetrable and neutral haven for all the people of Azeroth until Treize had laid seize against it. This had actually happened after Heero had moved on to Stormwind, and he though wasn’t sure where it had gone, he had heard a rumour that the city’s ruling magi had managed to teleport the entire city onto a pillow of cloud somewhere over Northrend before Treize could completely lay waste to the metropolis. Sometimes, Heero was struck with a great sadness at the realization that he would never be able to truly go home again.

Presently, the traveling party arrived at a low enclave of rock at the base of the mountains. At first, it seemed like nothing of note, but upon further inspection, it seemed the rocks had crumbled down from somewhere above to conceal a narrow passageway. “I used to go this way all the time when I was a brat,” said Duo, already falling into a low-bellied crawl with practiced ease. Heero and Trowa stood back and watched as Duo effortlessly wriggled his way under the hanging rock; Heero wondered for what purpose Duo would need to frequently sneak across Alterac as a child, while Trowa shuddered at the prospect of having to slither across the ground like a worm.

It was actually Heavypaw who made the first move to follow Duo, obviously having no qualms with rubbing his face in the dirt. It took a bit more effort for the large cat to get under the rock overhang, but he managed. Almost moments after Heavypaw had disappeared into the cliff side, a shout from Duo could be heard echoing from inside: “While it’s still daylight, please! I’m _dying_ in here.”

Trowa scoffed and muttered, “_You’re_ dying?” though it was hard to tell if the comment was meant to be ironic or just further disdain for getting his tabard dirty. Still, however reluctantly, Trowa slowly got down on the ground and crawled inside with grace that rivaled even that of his majestic pet. Once Trowa’s feet disappeared, Heero gave the forest one last cautionary sweep and then took it as his cue to follow suit. Perhaps it was a trick of the haunted forest, but Heero couldn’t shake the notion that there was another member to their group, traveling along behind them and unseen.

Beyond the entrance lay a craggy passage so narrow, they all had to move onwards single file. It was almost pitch black as well, a stark contrast to the sun Heero had been so happy to see that day, and it was only by the light of Duo’s glowing staff that they were able to see. As they walked, Heero and Duo managed well enough with ducking only every once in a while when the ceiling got low, but Trowa was so tall, he had to keep his head down almost the entire time.

“Tell your pet to stop treading on my heels,” Trowa groused at length, clearly not happy with the state of things.

“Tell _yours_ to stop sniffing me inappropriately,” Duo retorted without even looking back at Trowa. It was clear that Duo wasn’t exactly in the best of spirits either, despite the jovial persona he seemed to have been exuding most of the day. Heero wondered what was bothering him.

The cavern continued to wind its way through the heart of the mountains, twisting, turning, ascending and dipping in ways that left Heero completely disoriented by the time they emerged on the other end. Therefore, it was almost no surprise when they squeezed through the exit, they were standing on a ledge at a far higher elevation than the entrance. Before them lay the rocky terrain of Alterac Valley, which was tainted by the murky rose aura that lingered in the air above the huge crater where proud Dalaran once stood.

Wordlessly, Duo grabbed for Heero, yanking him over by the arm in a way that tried Heero’s patience a little. Duo forcibly turned Heero around so he could rummage through Heero’s pack, eventually withdrawing a single gold coin, which he then proceeded to flick over the cliff side. Blankly, they watched the sun glint off the coin as it twirled down, penetrating the dome of magical residue that arced over Dalaran Crater and disappearing without even a clink when it hit the bottom.

“What in hell is wrong with you, flinging money all over the place like you’re some kind of benevolent lord?” Trowa demanded to know, still glaring down into the crater as if he was trying to spot the coin amid the debris. “Next time you want to waste gold, just give it to me, and I shall see it rightfully home.”

Also frowning down at the crater, Heero silently agreed.

Duo chose to ignore both of them and instead took up his role as leader once again, turning to lead them towards a sharp inclination that barely constituted as a pathway. The descent was perilous, and it seemed the only one who was able to get on without incident was Heavypaw, who, for obvious reasons, was rather well suited for such climbing.

When they reached the bottom of the mountains, Trowa resolutely sat down on a large boulder to catch his breath, which Heero was silently thankful for. False impersonation or not, Heero would have never allowed himself to admit that the descent had taken quite a chunk out of him, though he supposed it was sort of comforting that even one of the nearly immortal elves of Quel’thalas weren’t impervious to such peril either. As Trowa broke into his own rations, Heero stared at Duo, silently willing him to give him permission to eat, which Duo soon did with a distracted wave of one hand. Crusty bread had never tasted so good.

It was unsurprising that Duo, with no need to consume foodstuffs such as bread and cheese, eventually grew restless waiting for his companions to finish eating. After pacing around Trowa’s rock a few times, he eventually announced to no one in particular that he was going for a walk and that they should be ready to move out when he returned later. He wandered off in the direction of the crater without even waiting for anyone to respond.

Trowa finished off the last of his food and then reached into his pack to pull out a bottle of milky nectar, which he swilled from liberally before wiping his lip and returning it to his inventory. Then, pulling out a linen-wrapped parcel, he coaxed Heavypaw over to his side. Unwinding the cloth to reveal a small fox he’d hunted in Silverpine, he casually ripped off one its haunches and tossed it to the lion, who hungrily tore into it. Not even looking up at Heero as he started to cut away another morsel with his skinning dagger, he commented airily: “No need to keep up such a farce, human; I’m onto you.”

Heero nearly choked on the bread he was in the process of swallowing at Trowa’s almost offhanded statement. It was fairly obvious what it was that Trowa had managed to figure out, but Heero refused to allow the elf the satisfaction of knowing he’d won and chose to remain silent instead. Defiantly, he took another bite out of his bread loaf.

“My people have been allied with the Forsaken long enough to know what their magically enslaved prisoners behave like,” Trowa went on as he continued to feed Heavypaw pieces of raw meat cut from the fox carcass. He paused for a moment to wipe his bloody hands on the linen wrapping before adding, “If anything, I would venture to say that it is He paused for a moment to wipe his bloody hands on the linen wrapping before adding, “If anything, I would venture to say that it is _you_ who has bewitched _him_. Duo Blackscythe was notorious amongst Forsaken and Sin’dorei alike for his mercilessness towards those who oppose him, and then… then there is you. He has been not himself since he found _you_.”

At this final accusation, Heero looked up to find Trowa glaring darkly at him, an almost uncharacteristically expressive frown on his face. Heero decided he cared not a whit for any of what Trowa thought he had observed in Duo, since all he knew of Duo Blackscythe was what he had seen since he had been caught by him that one night in the Sepulcher, and Heero thought that as far as he was concerned, that was all that mattered. So instead of arguing the matter, he simply said, “Acknowledged,” and then turned back to his food.

Angrily, Trowa dumped the rest of the fox carcass in front of Heavypaw, who happily tore into it with zeal, and stared off in the opposite direction. He was usually the sort who was less than concerned with the dealings of others, but this situation was far from pleasing to him. He found it wholly dangerous and did not appeal to the notion of having to brand his good friend a traitor because he had forged friendly alliances with the enemy. During the course of this adventure, Trowa decided he would be sure to keep an eye on the Ally for anything suspicious. He simply could not shake the feeling that there was mischief abounds.

Duo returned soon after, though whether or not he could tell what was afoot remained to be seen. With that same morose air he’d displayed atop the Alterac cliffs, he bade them gather their things and took the lead once more. At least now they were passing through the rolling foothills and found the going much easier on their physical beings, though it was hard to say if the unpleasantness that lingered around them was almost worse than the laborious hike.

Eventually, they came to the main road they would have been following if they had not deviated along Duo’s shortcut in Silverpine. However, they were only traveling along it for a short while before they became aware of the sound of heavy feet beating the ground behind them. The trio glanced back to find a pair of orc outrunners, each mounted on great, silver wolves, thundering up from the rear at a great pace. Duo groaned in dismay at the sight, clearly not in the mood for dealing with explanations to the questions that were sure to come of this inevitable meeting, while Trowa muttered something about being associated with such a tasteless scene. Meanwhile, Heero could only pray that the two orcs were heading somewhere other than Tarren Mill.

Sure enough, once the wolves and their riders went flying by Heero, Duo, Trowa and Heavypaw, it only took them moments to double back when they realized that one of them was a human. The wolves padded back slowly, clinking with the heavy chains that held their battle-scarred plate armour to their bodies, and the orcs greeted them in the tongue of their people. It was only when Duo replied in Orcish that Heero was struck with the dumbfounded realization that though the Forsaken had their own dialect, Duo had been speaking to him in Common and ocassionaly to Trowa in Thalassian this entire time. Hearing yet a fourth language come fluently from Duo’s mouth did not fail to leave an impression on Heero.

Heero did not know Orcish, and therefore, could not understand what was being said, but the conversation Duo had with the two orc warriors went something like this.

“Luk’tar!” the orcs hailed in the way of their people when they stopped to interview Duo and his comrades about their business. “Who are you, and what brings you here?” they demanded to know.

“The Dark Lady blesses and keeps you,” Duo said with a deeply exaggerated bow that might have been called mocking by some. “To Tarren Mill we go this fine day.”

The two orcs glanced at each other, exchanging a look that signified they were thinking the same thing. The higher ranking of the two spoke for them: “Very well, but why do you make haste to Tarren Mill with _that_ in tow?” He jabbed a greenish finger in Heero’s direction to emphasize his question.

“He is my prisoner,” Duo answered easily. “Do not fear him, for he has chosen to betray the Alliance to suit our cause.”

The orcs stared long and hard at Duo, as if they were unsure they accepted such an explanation. Then they glanced at Trowa, who was staring into space indifferently, and then at Heero, who had the sense to keep his head down and his hands visibly at his sides. The commanding orc, after much personal deliberation, finally let out a grunt of acknowledgement. He then turned his wolf back towards Tarren Mill to continue on his way, his companion not far behind.

“Well, that went smoothly,” Trowa commented as the outriders disappeared over the horizon.

“Too smoothly,” Heero muttered under his breath. He was still staring at the ground, so he missed the aghast look Duo sent the top of his head or the triumphant smirk adorning Trowa’s face nearby.

“Well, at least they didn’t pry into it too much, did they?” Duo snapped back impatiently. He started marching forward once again, though his step was very clearly agitated by the defiance of his traveling party. The mood certainly pervaded over the rest of them, and Heero soon forgot his worry that there was something still lurking behind them.

It took them a good portion of the afternoon to cross the foothills to Tarren Mill, which they found at the bottom of a low valley as twilight began to set in. As they followed the pathway down towards the broken village, Heero noted that despite its similarities to the Sepulcher, Tarren Mill was a far livelier outpost. Not only was there more activity around the town square, but it also seemed to boast a more diverse collection of Horde loyalists. However, this naïve curiosity was quick to leave him when they finally reached the edge of the village and it became clear why everyone was rushing to gather outside.

“Ah, so they arrive at last!” came a familiar shout, which was easily recognizable as one of the orc outrunners they’d encountered before. Surrounded by Forsaken, blood elves and trolls, he was standing with his comrade beneath the large tree that was rooted just outside of the ruined church in the town center. “It is good of you to join us: we couldn’t have started tonight’s entertainment without you.”

It was then that Heero and the others noticed that there was a noose hanging from one of the tree’s branches, making the orc’s intention all too clear. Things suddenly started happening in a blur of motion: a nearby troll grabbed Heero by the wrist and started to drag him towards the makeshift gallows, while the orc outrunner announced, “Thrall’s mighty Horde has no use for traitors – even those that might aid in our plight against the Alliance. We shall draw and quarter this one and leave his carcass swinging in the breeze as an example to those who might ever try such a thing again.” Finish his rally with a punch at the sky, he cried, “For the Horde!” which the crowd echoed with equal zeal as the prospect of such bloody entertainment drew near.

Trowa only seemed mildly concerned at all this tumult, but Duo was almost sick with anxiety as he wrung his hands and tried to figure out how to talk his way out of this disaster. The thought of losing out on that elixir of life before he’d even had a real chance at it was almost incomprehensible to him. Sensing that Duo was getting worked up, Asahi crawled out a hole in Duo’s chest cavity and scuttled up through the collar of his robes with the same distressed fervor of his master.

Meanwhile, as Heero was being forcibly pushed through the crowd towards his end, he could hear his heartbeat thudding loudly in his ears. He felt dizzy, and almost unaware of exactly what was going on as his more primeval instincts began to take over. It was as if the shadow of another being had veiled Heero’s conscience and removed him from that place entirely. He was shoved cruelly forward, and he stumbled, falling flat onto the ground to a din of cackles.

When he lifted his face to meet those of his executioners, his eyes were transformed by the demonic glow of hellfire.

Tbc


	5. The Sun and the Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Title: The Forsaken**

**Title: The Forsaken**

**Author:** Link Worshiper

**Pairings:** 1=2, maybe some others if I feel like it

**Rating:** PG-13

**Stuff:** Fantasy AU, fluff, sap, language, adventure, WoW nerdiness

Disclaimer: I own Gundam Wing action figures? Warcraft and its lore belongs to Blizzard Entertainment. Both things are being played with out of fangirl love.

Thanks to danse and Natea for the once over. Despite the fact this is part of Natea’s birthday present, I still needed her to fill me in on the Alliance history they don’t teach us on Horde, so thanks for that also =P

_Part V_

_The Sun and the Moon_

Before anyone realized what had happened, Heero, possessed by otherworldly evil, leapt upon the orc with teeth barred. He tore into the orc’s neck with his blunt, human teeth, chewing down on his jugular until a fount of blood spurted across his face. The other orc grabbed for the battleaxe he wore on his back, ready to swing it as he charged towards his companion’s attacker, but Heero was already dropping the first orc’s carcass by the time the blade came whizzing at his face. He dodged it with inhuman speed and wrested it from the orc, turning it on him with brutal strength. All of this happened so quickly, it was still a few moments yet before the whole of Tarren Mill erupted into chaos.

The villagers that were present for the hanging all surged forward, enraged that some puny Ally had managed to take down two Orgrimmar captains, but anyone who got within grabbing reach of Heero ended up either injured or in the same state as the two orcs. Yells and screams filled the air, dotted with the sound of cracking bones and the thud of bodies against the dirt.

Trowa and Duo were still hanging back, each trying to deal with the situation in his own way. Duo was still a bit panicked, though obviously for different reasons now, and was busy trying to work out the best way to intervene. Meanwhile, Trowa seemed absolutely aghast, and he stood with his bow in hand like he meant to nock an arrow and end things in his own way. Noticing this, Duo flicked a hand and whipped a tendril of fire magic at Trowa’s hand, causing him to drop the bow in surprise. “What in Azeroth was that for?” Trowa growled suckling on his burnt fingers. “We have to do _something_ before he razes this entire town!”

Duo reached over and abruptly smacked Trowa upside the head with a thwack that could be heard above the nearby brawl. “You idiot, are you really that thick? I thought I explained this already,” Duo snapped. “If the demon has already possessed him – which it _clearly_ has – then killing him will just give it freedom from the magic that binds it and it will simply find another soul to feed upon. We have to find a way to quell this disaster – and how to _keep Heero alive_ while we do it.”

Trowa frowned back at Duo, far from convinced. “I sometimes wonder if it’s really just this _demon_ that keeps you so concerned about that Ally’s wellbeing,” he said, his eyes narrowed accusingly. His patience was wearing thin.

“You don’t see me questioning _your_ motives,” Duo retorted icily. He then turned his back on Trowa and turned his mismatched hands inwards, twisting them around one another as he muttered a low incantation of summoning to call forth one of his own demonic minions.

Appearing from nowhere, the ghost-like apparition Duo had used to subdue Heero on their first encounter groaned, “What do you need?” He hovered beside Duo, pulsating with fel magics that swirled darkly at the core of his blue shape.

Duo wasted no time in issuing his command: “Bring me the human,” he ordered; “Kill anyone who resists you.”

“It is done,” the blue genie rasped, flexing its scythe-like claws before sailing forward into the melee. Duo chased after it, brandishing a wand he had pulled from the depths of his giant sleeves to support his summoned voidwalker from the rear. Heavypaw charged after Duo, excited by the prospect of fresh meat, while Trowa reluctantly offered his support in the form of a well-aimed arrow or two when things got tight. It was in this fashion that they cut through the thick of the fight towards Heero, who still stood near the hanging tree, staving off anyone who came near with unseemly brutality. It took an unexpected blast of fire from Duo’s wand to distract Heero long enough for the voidwalker to make a grab for him.

“Squeeze da life out’ta ‘im,” a nearby troll screamed at the voidwalker from the place where Heero had left her to bleed to death. “Show dat mangy wolf what we do ta da infected ones.” Duo silenced her with another bolt of energy from his wand, his eyes glowing contemptuously as he let his own terrible magic fly.

“Well?” said Trowa, who had now turned his attention to trying to keep the rest of the angry villagers from trying to kill Duo and him also. “Now what?”

Duo barely heard him, already busy with putting together some kind of hair-brained spell that might actually do to calm the demon’s possession of Heero. The voidwalker seemed to have a good grip on Heero, but that was only slightly comforting, as his struggling seemed to be wearing the blue ghost down quite a bit. Stowing his wand, Duo conjured a phial of vision dust from somewhere else in his sleeve, setting it to hover between his palms as he imbued it with an enchantment to ward shadow magic. Then, slicing his bony hand over the phial’s stopper, he uncorked it and bade the enchanted dust to fly forth. It powdered across Heero’s face in a cerulean cloud that sparkled with specks of holy light.

There was a moment where everyone in the vicinity seemed to hold his or her breath when they caught sight of what Duo had done. Clawing his face in what appeared to be pain, Heero threw his head back and let out a wretched scream in a voice that was not his. From his widened mouth shot a blast of dark energy that was no doubt the demon in a wraith-like form; it darted and swirled around Heero’s body like an agitated mosquito as it streamed from his mouth, eventually throttling towards the sigil in Heero’s hip pack. Inside the pouch, the sigil glowed with a nasty light that shone even though the thick leather as the demon returned to its prison, and Heero fell to his knees and promptly crumpled to the ground.

The moment Heero seemed to have lost his threat, the spectators tried to surge forward again, ready to tear him limb from limb, but Duo held them back with his staff. “He belongs to me,” he growled at the Horde villagers, pushing them back as best he could while Trowa reluctantly checked on Heero.

“Then you should die for this atrocity as well!” someone in the crowd shouted, referring to the many that had fallen to Heero’s hand.

“Well, _that_ would be a relief, since I’m already _dead_,” Duo rejoined smartly, not about to give in to idle threats. Deciding that scaring them with the worst-case scenario might work in his favour, Duo added, “Now, unless you want to see the rise of _another_ Lich King, I suggest you let us go about our business.” Just as he predicted, the mere suggestion of such a horrific thing was quick to shut them up, leaving Duo free to turn his attention back to Heero as they hurriedly dispersed.

“Well, in any case, it at least looks like he is physically well,” Trowa informed Duo as the warlock approached the place where Heero had toppled over. “Though with him thusly unconscious, I cannot tell if that is the end of it.”

Duo seemed subdued as he knelt beside Heero and gave him another examination to confirm what Trowa had said. Truthfully, he was more relieved than anything. Though no one would ever know, he had been terrified that they weren’t going to make it out alive back there, especially since he had previously no idea what their first encounter with the Epyon demon would be like. It unnerved him to think they had less time to act than he had thought.

“Duo,” Trowa said at length, still crouched across from him, on Heero’s other side. He waited for Duo to acknowledge him with a grunt before continuing: “What you said to the villagers to make them draw back – about this human becoming another Lich King – is that true?”

A sigh escaped Duo’s lips, though he was silent for a few moments before he looked up to meet his friend’s concerned stare. “It is not an unforeseeable path,” he murmured forlornly. “Just as the corrupted Treize was lured into fusing with the demon, Dermail, so the same could happen to Heero if we are not careful. Treize took up the cursed blade Frostmourne in hopes of saving his people from the Scourge, just as Heero found the Epyon sigil. Treize was undone by the very things that made him a champion of Lordaeron, and I fear what might bring Heero to his end.” Brushing a chunk of clotted blood off of Heero’s cheek, he whispered, “We are standing on the precipice of something foul.”

It was this explanation that seemed to finally reveal the gravity of their situation to Trowa, whose contempt seemed to cull after Duo spoke. Trowa had firsthand witnessed Treize’s invasion of Quel’Thalas at the betraying hands of a close friend, and he shuddered at the thought of echoing such dark times. “So what do we do next?” he asked, staring passed Duo’s head to see if anyone from the town was still loitering. “I somehow doubt that we will find a safe night here anymore.”

Duo twisted around to see what Trowa was staring at, and though there was nothing terribly out of the ordinary happening in the town square, he knew that Trowa was right. “Maybe we should just press on and make camp somewhere further down the road.”

“Can we make it with the human like this?” Trowa asked as Heavypaw gave the still unconscious Heero a tentative nudge with the back of his paw.

Duo silenced Trowa’s question with a menacing glare and said flatly, “Well, we’re going to have to, aren’t we.” Then he launched into a volley of prompt directions that made Trowa’s eyebrows twitch in annoyance. “You grab his arms, and I’ll lift his ankles. And make sure we are covering our trail and that no one is following us. The last thing we need is to have our throats slit in the middle of the night.”

And so, with Heero slung awkwardly between them, the pair slipped away from Tarren Mill as discreetly as possible. Heavypaw foraged the way ahead while Trowa kept his eyes trained on the road behind them. It never hurt to be too careful, but Trowa had a feeling that no one would dare try and follow them after the monstrous display that had just decimated Tarren Mill.

Heero was heavier than he looked, and there were a few times they had to stop for a rest, unwise as it probably was on a well-traversed path. Between carrying him and all the breaks, they were making very poor time, and the fact that they were traversing foothills didn’t make their journey any easier, and there were a few times when the sheer ardour of it gave the banter between Duo and Trowa a somewhat unsavoury flavour. But when dusk started to settle in and Heero had yet to even bat an eyelash, Trowa had reached the end of his rope. “It matters not to me what you do, but I am through with this task,” he announced at their next rest, holding his hands aloft in defeat. “We can either make camp somewhere around here for the night, or you can carry the human by yourself, but I am through being his porter.”

“What, is such work too below your station?” Duo asked, pausing in his efforts to try and rouse Heero, whose sleep seemed more and more to be some kind of enchanted offset of the Tarren Mill incident. Deridingly, he hissed, “If you are going to keep roaming the world as you are, then you had better get used to the fact that your being a prince no longer means a thing. After all, what good is a prince who has abandoned his people?” He was stooped next to Heero’s body, but one wrong word from Trowa, and it would have taken him only a mere instant to pull his wand back out of hiding.

For his part, Trowa fielded the insult rather well, though he was inwardly blistering at such ilk. He gripped his bow in an equally threatening way as he said in a tight voice, “I have not abandoned Quel’thalas; I am merely searching Azeroth for a means to restore the Sunwell to the way it was – _for my people_.”

Duo pointedly ignored Trowa, as he was wont to do when Trowa got too high and mighty for his tastes. Even in life, though he was often trusted with great responsibilities, Duo had never been more than an acolyte of Elune and often found distaste in most upper class gentry. He supposed it might be strange that he and Trowa were actually quite good friends, but then again, they had bonded long before Duo found out exactly who Trowa was. And besides, Trowa had yet to do anything that threatened the delicately balanced calm in Azeroth, thus leaving Duo with no real reason to dislike him, despite previous experiences with such people.

Trowa was scaling a small hill in search of a good place to make camp for the night that was off the main road, leaving Duo to struggle with Heero’s body alone. Hooking his arms beneath Heero’s armpits, he dragged him across the ground, still amazed that Heero remained asleep. He wished he knew enough about the demon’s magic to be able to tell if Heero’s slumber was a good or a bad sign. “You better wake up soon,” he grunted as he struggled after Trowa, nearly tripping over his long robes. “A cadaver will be of no use to me when we reach Stormwind.”

“Is that all you can really think about?” Trowa asked as Duo and Heero tumbled down the knoll, nearly kicking out the small fire Trowa had started amid a circle of rocks. “You say you fear what this human might become, but your motives are even more selfish than mine, Duo Blackscythe.”

Duo seemed slightly caught off guard by such a blunt statement, and instead busied himself with disentangling himself from Heero’s person and rearranging his body across the grass. “Well, it wouldn’t do to revive myself only to become undead again, would it?” he insisted as he removed Heero’s cloak and wound it upon itself to create a makeshift pillow.

“You are a poor liar,” Trowa said, rummaging through his pack for something to gnaw on. He was disappointed to find that all he had left was a few hard biscuits and a stale crust of bread. Standing and shouldering his bow, he announced that he was going to go and hunt down some dinner for the lot of them.

“Do as you please; I do not require such things,” answered Duo, waving Trowa off casually. “Just be careful; we are approaching the highlands, and that is Syndicate territory. You are useless to me if you come stumbling back to camp stripped of all your things.”

Trowa scoffed with insult, “Do you think I’m careless enough to allow myself to be mugged by mere thieves? You must take me for something far less than I am.”

Duo just stared blankly at Trowa, who soon turned on booted heel and marched off into the nearby wood in search of game. Duo didn’t move until he was sure Trowa had moved out of earshot and then allowed himself a heavy sigh. He scrunched his knees up against his chest and pressed his forehead against them. He knew Trowa was astute, and he wondered if he would really be able to keep the intentions he knew Trowa would disprove of under wraps for the duration of this journey. Once again sensing his master’s discontent, Asahi crawled from the depths of Duo’s decayed innards and tried to offer comfort as well as a roach could.

“Thanks, buddy. You did always stick around when things seemed the most bleak,” Duo muttered at the cockroach, using a finger to toy with his antennae. He sighed again and went on, “And you have been my friend long enough to know the heart of all this.” He smiled to himself, though it was a rather nostalgic one; it was pathetic that the only true friend he had managed to keep was an insect. “My soul has wandered the same ground for so long. I never thought I would be teased with such repose.”

Asahi bounced empathetically on Duo’s shoulder while his master stared forlornly at his sleeping companion, wishing desperately they could speak candidly with each other. “I suppose loneliness is another curse of death,” Duo commented, watching Heero’s chest rise and fall with each slow breath. “To be alone and forgotten.”

So mired was he in his despondence, Duo was no longer keeping a keen eye on the surrounding countryside. He never heard the sound of feet coming over the hill or saw the shadows lurking behind until they were virtually upon him.

Further off, Trowa sat atop a fallen tree trunk, his heart racing as he dug through his pack once more. Certainly he had every intention of hunting down something to eat, but before he did that, he decided he had to stop and drain the trinket he had stolen from Heero of its magic. It was a miracle he had already managed so long on his feet after going so long without a hit of arcane energy, and the mere knowledge that he had finally managed to steal something that would remedy his craving had been driving him mad since they had departed from Silverpine.

Pulling it out of his bag, he dangled the owl-shaped charm from its chain in front of his pert nose, chewing his lip in excitement as he reveled in the powerful energy pulsating across the silver. He lifted a hand and grabbed the trinket, drawing his long fingers across its surface. Unexpectedly, at his touch, the charm glowed a whitish blue that was so bright, Trowa had to squint and look away as an unfamiliar voice demanded, “Who are you?”

Trowa turned back to face the light, confusion written across his handsome features as he tried to discern what had happened. In the middle of the glowing aura that now hovered in the air before him was the face of a blond human male with the largest blue eyes Trowa had ever seen. He did not look very pleased to see Trowa from his end of the communication portal, which was cemented by his furthered agitation: “Where is Heero? How did you get his charm?”

Trowa’s face was schooled with indifference as he said blandly, “I stole it.”

This did not seem to sit well with the blonde, whose frown simply deepened at this information. “And what became of my friend?” the human asked, his voice coiled.

A sneer coated Trowa’s face as he answered, “Why should I tell something like that to a nosy Ally like you?”

“Because I asked,” the blond replied smartly. “Please tell me at least that, or I might find cause to send a search party out to Hillsbard to find you.”

The threat was delivered in a rather well mannered tone, but there was something about the way the blonde human spoke that prickled Trowa’s skin. It was probably the realization that Heero’s friend was hardly a slouch when it came to clever tactics and that Trowa was going have to exercise immense caution if this discussion was to continue. He already found discomfort in the fact that the blond human seemed to know exactly where he was. Deciding two could play this game, Trowa said, “The one you call Heero is with my companion in our encampment nearby.” He added ambiguously, “He is being… well guarded.”

A concerned look crossed the human’s face. “You mean, he has been taken by the Horde?” he wondered, clearly not relieved to hear such news. He was quick to regain his composure, however, and he pressed, “What will you do with him?”

Trowa shrugged, “I don’t much care. I am merely following to whet my magical appetite.”

The blonde narrowed his eyes with displeasure. “I do not believe you, elf,” he said darkly. “Heero has no use for magic; there is no way he possesses enough to satisfy one such as yourself.”

Idly, Trowa started pulling off one of his gloves, one finger at a time. “My companion does not seem to think so,” he commented idly, easing his hand out of his leather encasement. “Perhaps his enchanted remains will revitalize the Sunwell.” Tossing his glove aside, he conjured a small bead of draining magic with which he would use to siphon the power out of the owl charm. “In the meantime, I will do what I can for my own campaigns.”

“Wait!” the human cried, lifting a demonstrative hand as if it might actually stop Trowa’s spellcasting. “Please don’t abandon me in such a way. Heero is my oldest friend; I cannot let you just bear him away without a word.”

Trowa clenched his fist around the siphon spell, glaring sharply at the human through the portal. “Why should I?” he wanted to know. “What will you do for me?”

The human seemed to be taken aback at such an abrupt demand, but it was something that probably should have been expected. “What is it you might need?” he asked cautiously.

Trowa arched his eyebrows, a rather sinister smile crossing his lips. “What are you, a priest? Are you powerful?” he asked lackadaisically. “Perhaps you could find a way to keep me sated with your magic.”

The human’s eyes darted away, fixated on something to the side that Trowa couldn’t see through the portal. “I might be able to see after something like that,” he muttered grudgingly. “But in exchange,” he added quickly, his voice regaining its former confidence, “I must demand that you let Heero go!”

Trowa picked at a fingernail, hardly even gracing the human with eye contact. “If only it were that simple,” he commented mysteriously.

“What does that mean?” the blonde pressed anxiously, far from consoled. “What have you done with him?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing,” Trowa hummed, taking secret pleasure in how riled his ambiguous comments were making the human. “But I’m afraid he will have to stay in our keep for some time longer. It seems he has made a deal with my companion, you see, and it would not do for him to swallow his word. You would then find him a grave man.” At this final comment, Trowa could hardly resist the urge to throw his head back and laugh, absolutely undone by the disconcerted expression that had overtaken the human’s face.

“The world has darkened your heart,” the blonde said tartly, a frown still adorning his face in a way that might almost be considered adorable. But admirably, he kept his resilience in the face of such contempt: “Still for the sake of my friend and his honour, I will do ask you have asked, Sir….” He trailed off, expecting to be filled in on the blood elf’s name.

Picking up on the implication, Trowa said curtly, “I am Prince Trowa Sunbender, Lord of Silvermoon, ruler of Quel’thalas, the Sun King.” The smirk returning to his face, he said derisively, “And you are?”

The human swallowed, though he refused to be intimidated by Trowa’s royal status. “They call me Quatre Raberba Winner, High Priest of Theramore and chief advisor to Lady Relena Proudmoore.”

Amusement rode across Trowa’s face as he said, “Ah, so you are High Priest Winner; I have heard of you.” He grinned, though it was hard to say what made him do so: “Who would have thought that an Ally thief such as your friend could have friends seated in such comfortable places. This might do well for him.” He took up the owl charm again, and added with a note of finality, “You have two days to deliver the first of what you have promised me. If it serves, then I might leave your friend alone once his purpose has been filled.” Then he gave the owl charm a rub, and with another flash of bright light, he was left alone in the woods once more, though far more satisfied than he had been before he’d accidentally spoken to the priest.

Pocketing the charm and replacing his glove, Trowa took up his bow and quiver once more, whistling for Heavypaw to come back to his side. But when the lion did not immediately come running from the woods, Trowa’s mood quickly shifted to one of concern. Quick to fall back on his expert tracking skills, the blood elf prince followed the trail Heavypaw had left while romping through the nearby wood. It seemed that the lion had been amusing himself until something had cause it to stop and turn back towards their camp. Certain that Heavypaw had sensed something amiss while he had been distracted by Quatre, Trowa made haste for their campsite, preparing for the worst.

And lo, when he burst from the wood, he was almost unsurprised when he found that both Heero and Duo were nowhere to be found.


	6. The Circles of Binding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Title: _The Forsaken_**  
> **Author:** Link Worshiper  
> **Pairings:** 1=2, maybe some others if I feel like it  
> **Rating:** PG-13  
> **Stuff:** Fantasy AU, fluff, sap, language, adventure, WoW nerdiness  
> **Disclaimer:** I own Gundam Wing action figures? Warcraft and its lore belongs to Blizzard Entertainment. Both things are being played with out of fangirl love.

**Title: _The Forsaken_**  
**Author:** Link Worshiper  
**Pairings:** 1=2, maybe some others if I feel like it  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Stuff:** Fantasy AU, fluff, sap, language, adventure, WoW nerdiness  
**Disclaimer:** I own Gundam Wing action figures? Warcraft and its lore belongs to Blizzard Entertainment. Both things are being played with out of fangirl love.

Thanks to danse and Natea for the once over. Despite the fact this is part of Natea's birthday present, I still needed her to fill me in on the Alliance history they don't teach us on Horde, so thanks for that also =P

_Part VI  
The Circles of Binding_

It didn't take long for Trowa to figure out that Syndicate thieves were behind this new problem: they held many of the abandoned castles in the area as bases of operation, not to mention the fact that they had left signs of a characteristically sloppy ambush in their wake. More annoyed than anything else, he clambered over the hills and back towards the main path, all the while looking for clues as to which of the nearby strongholds this particular band of thieves might have taken his comrades. Part of Trowa wanted to just dash it all and keep on his way, but even he knew that there wasn't much sense in that without the main components of this entire escapade. Besides, he figured it would be smart to keep tabs on Heero if he was going to milk that priest friend of his for some kind of magic supply; he'd noticed that humans seemed to be annoyingly sentimental about such things.

He had no sooner thought these things before he found Heero sprawled across the path a couple yards away. Trowa hurried towards him and knelt at his side, a little frustrated to note that the human was still asleep under whatever curse the demon had left within him. "Useless," he grunted, moving to heft Heero over one shoulder. "Where the hell is Duo when you need him?"

At least Heero seemed a bit lighter this time, though Trowa was loathe to realize that it was because the pack he'd been carrying had been stolen. Trowa knew it wasn't Heero's fault that most of their supplies were now missing, but it didn't stop him from taking it out on his comatose body with a tight grip that dug ferociously into Heero's skin. He hoped he would come across Duo soon, if only to berate him.

Trowa soon got his wish as Heavypaw darted ahead and over towards a nearby fen that lay just off the pathway and down a short hill. The lion scampered up to a familiar body, which lay facedown in the swampy grass. His robes were tattered and his staff was missing, but at least he still seemed to be alright. Gracelessly, Trowa dumped Heero's body onto the ground once more and quickly appeared beside his pet, which was busy trying to drag Duo's body out of the bog.

The disturbance caused Duo to start coughing and sputtering as he regained his sense of place. Trowa supervised as Heavypaw deftly rolled Duo over onto his back and silently waited for him to gather enough of his wits to tell him what had happened.

Duo sat up, cracking many of the bones in his body as he did so. A shiver ran down the length of his spine as he shook the dampness from his matted hair. "Before you say anything," Duo began, pausing to spit out a mouthful of moss water, "it's not my fault."

Trowa rolled his eyes, which were burning green with displeasure. "Right, so then I'll blame Sleeping Beauty over there," he said, jerking his head in Heero's direction. "What the hell were you doing to allow yourselves to get ganked by thieves such as they?"

Duo was quick to turn the tables back on Trowa: "Yeah? And where the hell were _you_?" he rejoined, not about to let the blood elf push him around like that. "You were gone so long, I was beginning to wonder if _you'd_ met some kind of end amidst the trees."

"I was _indisposed_," Trowa snapped ambiguously. "Either way, now we are without our inventory and buggered to boot."

"What are you saying?" Duo asked, shakily clambering to his feet. "So we lost a few coins and some equipment - big deal. There are ways around such things."

Trowa arched his eyebrows at Duo as he watched the warlock totter over towards Heero's crumpled form. Duo grumbled under his breath as he rolled Heero out into a more comfortable-looking position and started to pat him down to take better stock of what they'd lost. He wasn't too concerned until he removed Heero's hip pouch and started to root through it, for it was there that he knew Heero kept the demonic sigil. However, finding that it too gone sent him into a bitter rage. Hurling the pouch to the ground, he leapt back to his feet and whirled on Trowa: "Just wonderful! Now we truly are buggered," he fumed, displaying the same level of annoyance as Trowa for the first time since they'd set out. "Those idiots will do something stupid with that sigil, I know it. We have to get it back!"

"We have to get a lot of things back," Trowa answered icily. "I refuse to be pushed around by mere thieves. Now, where did they go?"

Duo let out a frustrated moan, knowing that there were many potential places the thieves could have taken their loot, though it seemed likely they were following the path to their keep in Arathi. He pulled at the longish wisps of hair that fell around his rotted features, gasping, "Who knows what that demon will do if it reappears and Heero is nowhere to be found."

"And speaking of, what are we going to do with your little pet while we go overturning every rock between here and Hammerfall?" Trowa then asked, his flat tone reeking of cynicism. He arched his eyebrows at Heero's body, wrinkling his nose at the thought of how precious Duo was being with him. "I suppose we could just leave him while we search."

Duo's eyes narrowed as he blew an exasperated puff of air through the hole in his cheek: "Then we might as well just skip raiding those damned thieves at all. Having the sigil is useless without Heero; the demon will just rampage until he finds his human vessel again, and that could be disastrous for everyone. At least with both in tow, we can keep it in check until I find the things we need to save him from this fel enchantment."

Trowa's brow creased angrily, hardly bothering to disguise his frown. He did not care for the way Duo treated Heero, and it made him suspicious that there was more to this escapade than he was aware. Bitterly, he hissed, "I am not in the right spirit for any of your lecturing, Duo Blackscythe. We lost fifty and six gold coins to those thieves when they looted you and I refuse to go any further without it. So get your act together and fall in step, because I won't stand for any more of your tricks!" He said the last bit accusingly, carefully watching Duo's face for any sort of betraying flinch, and heavily disappointed to find there was none.

Meanwhile, Duo was still huddled on the ground, desperately trying to come up with a brilliant scheme to make ends meet. He knew it was stupid to send Trowa out looking for thieves while he waited with Heero, but it was still just as pointless to carry Heero between them while slinking around unfriendly territory. He desperately wished he had the power to undo at least this demonic sleep that had possessed Heero and tried his best to think of a hurried solution for the time being. Now plucking at the long grass that bent around his legs, he tried to assess what had triggered this state upon Heero at all in case it led him to any strokes of brilliance.

"I don't see why this ails you so," Trowa sighed at long last. He was kicking at the bog water, amusing himself with the way Heavypaw would cover his face whenever the water got too close. "A passerby would think him dead if they saw him lying here; I don't think you have to worry so much about his wellbeing - if that is what the case may be." Trowa shot Duo a knowing but wary glance, still carefully searching the warlock's face for the slightest betrayal of emotion.

He was pleased to find that this comment was able to get a rise out of Duo, who was quick to leap to his feet and hiss, "His wellbeing is the difference between life and death, not only for us, but for all of Azeroth." He strode towards Trowa and snatched a handful of his tabard with his bone fingers, dragging his face to level with his: "Imagine what would have happened if Milliardo Wrynn had been able to wrest that demonic power for himself, as was his intention? It would be just as he took the seat of Stormwind for his own, not for the good of the Alliance, but for his own selfishness!" Duo was really getting worked up, shaking Trowa this way and that as spittle flew from his throat. "So long as we keep Heero and that sigil with us, we can ensure the banishment of that fel beast and thus, another calm day." With that, he gave Trowa a hearty push, sending him stumbling backwards into the fen, where he teetered and fell with a splash. Neither one laughed.

Now drenched, Trowa glared up at Duo from behind his long bangs, hardly looking as regal as someone of his princely station ought. "Well, isn't it good to know that _someone_ has been keeping himself brushed up on the underbelly of Alliance history," he growled, his displeasure now ten times what it had been prior.

Duo stood at the edge of the bog, his arms crossed beneath the huge folds of his sleeves as he glared down at Trowa unsympathetically, determined to stand his ground. "Until the day I died, such things were my life," he reminded Trowa bitterly.

"So were they mine," Trowa spat back with eager animosity, quivering with such rage that the water around him rippled like a boiling soup.

They remained at this ugly stalemate for quite some time, each trying to silently outweigh the other's history with just the power of his anger. It was a silly thing to argue over, really, since both their races were once formerly of the Alliance until tragedy drove each away from their roots and gave them cause to join with those who had once been their enemies. But with the way the tension had been building between the two of them since they'd set out, it was unsurprising that they would fall apart over something so trite.

It was a rabble from the highroad that eventually quashed their spat, at least for the time being. At the unexpected sound, both Duo and Trowa were quick to duck for cover amid the boggy reeds, where from they spied upon the path for the source of the noise. Duo prayed that Trowa's assertion that Heero seemed as if a corpse would ring true.

Sure enough, there came into sight the very band of thieves that had had raided them, immediately given away by the fact that one of them carried Duo's stolen staff. There were only seven of them, but they seemed to have done very well that day in Hillsbard, for they were laden with other items and packs that did not belong to Duo or Trowa, and were drinking with revel from flasks as they ambled down the road towards Arathi. Their disagreement immediately forgotten, Trowa and Duo were already mouthing silent attack plans to one another, certain they wouldn't get another chance like this, even before the thieves took note of Heero.

"Wait," said the ringleader of this particular band of Syndicate ne'er-do-wells, holding up a hand. He glanced down the knoll to where Heero lay on his back, artfully arranged as if he had been napping there. "What ho is this?"

"'Tis a peasant, sirrah - an adventurer, methinks," slurred one of the other thieves as he knocked back another shot from the flask he was holding. "Probably dead."

"Yes, yes, probably," said the leader ponderously as he stroked his beard and stared down at Heero's body. "But he seems the same dead adventurer whose corpse we left behind half a league back. How ever did it find its way here?"

At this suggestion, the rest of the thieves all huddled around their leader, as if standing in his exact position would allow them the sight to recognize the body. If they all weren't so drunk, they probably would have had the sense to flee at such a suggestion, for anyone in Azeroth knew that the dead who walked were most likely in the service of the Lich King. They also might have been more attuned to the movement in the nearby underbrush before an arrow came whizzing from behind, embedding itself deep into their leader's skull. So drunk were they that it even took a moment for all of them to register what had happened before someone thought to panic and send the lot of them scattering. Such alarm was useless, though, for there soon came another arrow, and then a burst of flaming magic right before they were ambushed by Heavypaw and one of Duo's summoned creatures.

It wasn't until Heavypaw was sitting amid a field of fallen bodies, idly licking the blood off his fur, that Trowa and Duo emerged from hiding. Both feeling rather self-satisfied, they set to looting the corpses, even more pleased to find that they'd made profit by adding the other stolen goods to their inventory. They doubled their rations and tripled their coin, not to mention the discovery of some smaller items they thought would come in handy later. At the end of it all, Trowa smugly removed the missing sigil from the Syndicate leader's purse, reveling in its repossession until Duo snatched it back and slunk back towards Heero. "Nice try," he called back at Trowa as he replaced the sigil in Heero's hip pouch.

"You know," said Trowa as he squatted down on the edge of the path, amusedly watching as Duo struggled to lift Heero's body on his own, "we, too, will be passing through Arathi."

"Yes, so? What of it?" Duo wheezed, already exasperated by the chore of trying to haul Heero back to where Trowa waited on the path. He kept telling himself he would be allowed to punch the blood elf if he managed to get there.

Trowa arched his eyebrows, as was his way when he was particularly entertained. "They say it is steeped in magic," he said elusively. "That the very essence of the Earthmother is what breathes life into the rocks and draws the spirits of the land to the old enchanting circles built in her honour."

"For the love of Elune, stop toying with me and say what you mean, elf!" Duo grunted as he dragged Heero across the pebbly ground and began up the side of the hill towards the road. It was a miracle of the enchanted sleep that Heero did not wake and strangle Duo for such rugged care.

Deciding that he'd had enough fun for the time being, Trowa finally gave in and nudged Duo a bit more sharply: "Did you not once know a Tauren druid in your youth?" he pressed. "I seem to recall you telling me that she was your primary fount of knowledge about their culture when you studied in Dalaran."

"Yeah, so?" Duo was having a hard time giving it proper thought while trying to drag Heero up to where Trowa sat.

"So," Trowa meandered with the thought, "did she not teach you their ways of communicating with the earth?"

"What, are you saying we should use a Tauren ritual to ask the Earthmother to wake Heero?" Duo asked as he finally reached the roadside, though it was still a struggle to keep his footing and not lose hold of Heero, whose furthered lack of cooperation was wholly unhelpful. "I suppose it's worth a try. A god would have more luck with this business than we would, anyway...."

Duo was too focused on his task to notice the way Trowa was shaking his head bemusedly at the entire display, proof of their friendship despite its jagged appearance. With a final yank and a gasp, Duo finally managed to deposit Heero beside Trowa, though the backside of Heero's jerkin had suffered the consequences for it. Flopping down on his back next to Heero for a rest, Duo stared up at the cloudy sky and said, "Sometimes I wonder if the Burning Legion sent you out for the sole purpose of torturing me beyond even _undeath_."

Trowa let out a laugh at this accusation, one of the few he'd allowed himself in the entirety of their journey. "They do say everything in life has a purpose, though we may not always have cause to know what that is," he commented sagely.

Duo frowned at the clouds, wondering what purpose theirs might be. "Lately, I feel as though mine is being teased," he said, his voice a little nostalgic. His body had felt nothing since he'd died, and yet, he couldn't shake the anxious feeling that had suddenly overtaken him. It was strange for him to imagine that he still carried some of the things he thought he had left behind in another life.

"The word for that is 'destiny'," said Trowa, assuming a similar position to Heero and Duo, though he took the liberty of folding his arms behind his head.

Duo turned his head towards his companion, unsure if he was being facetious or not, but found he was unable to read his relaxed face. He felt as if he had set out on this journey eons ago, but had since only been walking in circles to bide his time. He wondered if, at the end of it, he would find that he had managed to get anywhere at all.

\--

His ears were filled with the whispers of death. Around him, the blackened world in which he hovered seemed to be hung only with gray shadows that wafted as if they were being carried on a ghostly breeze. He blinked - or he tried to - but it was like he was seeing a world that did not require the power of vision. He paused and tried to breathe, wondering where he was and how long he had been there. O, but it felt like he had been laying there all his life, and could, for the rest of his life, there, remain.

However, he could not say that he was entirely ill at peace, despite the somber air his surroundings held. It was as if he were in some kind of realm between worlds, waiting for some kind of rite of passage to take place so that he might proceed onwards. Curiosity as to where that might be teased him a bit, but he was content to wait if waiting was what he ought to do. That was easy enough: it was like an order, and orders were something that he had built his life upon.

Then, beneath the ever-present mutterings of the dead, he thought he heard singing - a familiar traditional from the days when he'd roamed the streets of Dalaran. By the Light, he had not heard such a hymn in ages, and for the first time since he'd found himself here, he felt the will to move. No sooner had he made this decision did the bland scenery around him meld into that of beautiful Dalaran, with its elfin spires and abundant gardens. He looked around, enthralled; he had not been here in an eternity. As he walked, he found himself recalling snippets of his life past as if they were pieces of a fragmented dream.

But even as he wandered the streets, he knew it was somehow different - that this wasn't truly Dalaran. It still bore the grayish hues of this unearthly place and seemed devoid of all life, even as the sounds of the hymnal grew louder in his ears. It was then that he came to the realization that he was utterly alone, and in doing so, stood amazed that he had gone so long without noticing. He wondered where his companions had gone, or if they had at last abandoned him to whither away. The thought instilled another urge within him - one that demanded some sort of emotion, but one he could not put a finger on, for he then found himself somehow devoid of his ability to feel. Such a discovery made him want to be angry, but that, too, was unreachable. It was almost as if that part of him had been physically clawed out of his chest and hidden away, leaving him only able to rationalize questions such as who or why - or if there was something else he should be remembering that had somehow also been swallowed up in this netherworld. It was as if he were a mere toy in some grand scheme.

The singing escalated as he started to tear through the streets, heading all the while towards the Violet Citadel. He was a man possessed by the notion that there was something for him to glean from this vision, and it drove him to persist onwards. He stumbled over his own feet and fell forward, his hands barely saving his face the pain of colliding with the cobblestone roadway. But no sooner had he hit the pavement did he realize that the masonry was crumbling away beneath him, falling down like stone rain into the dark abyss that stretched out beneath the dream Dalaran. His eyes widened in fear to see that looming in the blackness was none other than the huge ifrit that had killed his guildmates; it hovered there, as if it were waiting for the rest of Dalaran to fall away and send him plummeting into its awaiting claws. Its eyes burned hungrily as it roared up at him with yearning.

He screamed.

All at once, Heero's eyes snapped open and he woke up, nearly blinded by the overwhelming sunlight that filtered through the clouds overhead. Afraid to even move lest he disturb what might have been some other kind of dream, Heero took in a few deep, heavy breaths, his fingers attempting to clench a handful of the stone slab he found himself lying upon.

"Heero?" The voice was tentative but familiar. Heero allowed himself to turn his head in the direction the voice had come from, actually somewhat relieved to see Duo leaning on his staff nearby. He might have been a bit groggy still, but he almost imagined that there was some hint of worry on Duo's flesh-eaten face.

"Where are we?" he wondered, shimmying into an upright position. Because the air here was damper and the scenery more mossy and green, he knew they were no longer in Alterac, but he was still a bit too disoriented to call up any sort of map in his head.

"In the Arathi Highlands," came another familiar voice, though it was a little less welcome than Duo's. Heero turned to see Trowa crouched on a nearby boulder, Heavypaw lingering around its base with his usual languid ease. "You have been an unhelpful burden since we left Tarren Mill."

And so they were, Heero noted, ignoring anything else that was said as Duo launched into yet another tiff with Trowa. Arathi had always been one of the most beautiful places in Azeroth, Heero thought: it was always a bit gray and rainy there, but it kept the grass all the more lush, and the huge stones that had been arranged in ritualistic prayer circles all over the landscape only added to the place's mystique. It was then that he realized that they were gathered in the middle of just such a prayer circle. For a moment, he thought to ask why they were lingering in such a place, but reason was quick to make sense of that... if the elemental spirits lingering around its perimeter were any clue. He nodded at them, a silent word of thanks.

For a moment, Heero wondered if he should tell either of them about his dream, but then thought wiser of it when he found he could not immediately speak up about it. There would be plenty of time to explain it if the need ever arose, he decided, silently watching as Duo uncouthly bit his thumb at Trowa. He found himself instead distracted by the notion of how human the pair of Horde allies was behaving. He wondered if it was something he was privy to because they no longer regarded him as a threat, or if he was starting to see something in them he hadn't taken the time to notice before.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder if there was something that they were hiding from him. Neither had bothered to explain exactly how they had ended up all the way in Arathi, when it seemed like only moments before, they had been in Tarren Mill. He remembered the orcs that had tried to have him publicly executed there, but nothing beyond that. He supposed they must have nearly had their way with him and he'd been incapacitated all through Hillsbard. That made sense, he thought; it would explain why Trowa had been complaining about being inconvenienced.

Duo seemed to have taken notice of Heero's silence, and, catching sight of the way Heero was examining himself from the corners of his eyes, stopped goading Trowa in order to turn his attentions on his human ward. "What's wrong?" he asked, though it was hard to tell quite where his concern stemmed from. "You're not missing something else are you?"

Heero's head snapped up, his blue eyes jagged with curiosity. "What do you mean?" he asked suspiciously.

Fiercely, Duo clamped his open mouth shut and pursed his thin lips. It was easy to forget that despite the seeming camaraderie the three of them had forged, they all still had plenty of reasons to distrust one another. "You just seemed concerned about your person is all," Duo ground out, hoping he didn't sound too uncertain. He hadn't meant to let all that business with the thieves slip out so soon. Explaining what had transpired in Tarren Mill up to that point was something Duo was still privately fussing about, unsure what the best way to broach the subject would be.

Realizing what had caught Duo's attention, Heero answered with a shrug, "I thought I might have been injured, that's all."

"Not physically, anyway," Duo said before he had a chance to recant. He stared at Heero for a few long seconds, the ghostly light in his eye sockets flickering as he brooded over what to say next. Clutching his staff tightly in both hands, he glanced away, frowning at one of the large boulders that stood around the edge of the enchanting circle. "That is to say, I'm not even quite sure 'injured' is the word."

Trowa was quick to interject with his usual blunt air. "Can you walk, human?" He crossed his arms and waited for Heero to answer. Upon seeing Heero slide off the stone slab he'd been lying on and take a few steps away from it, he summed up with a shrug, "You see? Not injured. Let's go." He abruptly leapt from his own perch, landing in a well-balanced crouch next to Heavypaw.

"Hey, you calm down, Your _Highness_," Duo jibed derisively, unimpressed with Trowa's habit of wrangling control of the expedition away from him. He ambled over to Trowa, bending down to hiss into his long, elfin ear: "I think you're taking all of this a bit _too_ lightly."

"And I think you're coddling that human," Trowa sniped back, not about to let Duo domineer their journey in a way he didn't approve of. "Cursed or not, I still think you gave your trust to him too easily."

"So what if I did?" Duo groused, sensing another row on the horizon. "It's none of your business."

However, Trowa wasn't about to be written off so easily, and he was quick to say, "Whether you want me here or not, as long as I am a part of this fellowship, it is as much my business as anyone else's. I won't allow you to make a fool of yourself or me because some conniving Ally had you on a leash." His tone was acidic, but there was a sincerity in his face that spoke of the concern he had for his friend in the whole affair. After a weighted pause, Trowa added, "Haven't you thought completely on the matter? We are leading a cub back to a den of wolves. Who knows what they will do to us when we get there."

Duo was exasperated by Trowa's inability to understand the whole arrangement and sourly wished he wouldn't have to keep repeating himself lest he end up telling more than he had vowed he would. "Look, I know that the world we live in is one where we all best ought to tread lightly, but...." He paused, glancing away as he absently fingered the leather stitches in his cheek. "Sometimes you just have to believe that there are still a few men who are as good as their word." His tongue poked out between the stitches in a manner that betrayed his anxiety.

The frown on Trowa's face didn't right itself, despite the earnestness in Duo's plea. He grudgingly acquiesced as much as he would ever be willing to on the matter by saying, "I will change my mind when I witness something that earns such a sentiment from me." He sent a sharp glare over Duo's shoulder to where Heero still lingered on the stone slab they had laid him on. "I've seen nothing to settle it yet."

Duo was really starting to grow weary of this repeated argument with Trowa, especially since they always ended up going around in circles with it. "You let bias clout your judgment of all this," Duo accused, not about to let Trowa have the last word. "For the first time in your life, just trust me a little, alright?" He then stormed away from Trowa, falling into step with Heero, who was awkwardly trying to get used to using his legs again. As if to spite Trowa, Duo offered Heero a steadying hand as they made their way from the craggy enchanting circle.

Trowa was quick to turn his attentions elsewhere when he saw what Duo was doing. He refused to acknowledge any of the motivations Duo had regarding the human that were not wholly self-serving, for it that sort of folly that had led stronger men astray. "No, Duo," Trowa muttered, squinting into the setting sun as he and Heavypaw led the way back to the main path, "it is you whose judgment seems to have been clouted."

TBC!


	7. Waning Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Title: **_**The Forsaken**_**  
> Author:** Link Worshiper  
> **Pairings:** 1=2, maybe some others if I feel like it  
> **Rating:** PG-13  
> **Stuff:** Fantasy AU, fluff, sap, language, adventure, WoW nerdiness  
> **Disclaimer:** I own Gundam Wing action figures? Warcraft and its lore belongs to Blizzard Entertainment. Both things are being played with out of fangirl love.

**Title: **_**The Forsaken**_**  
Author:** Link Worshiper  
**Pairings:** 1=2, maybe some others if I feel like it  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Stuff:** Fantasy AU, fluff, sap, language, adventure, WoW nerdiness  
**Disclaimer:** I own Gundam Wing action figures? Warcraft and its lore belongs to Blizzard Entertainment. Both things are being played with out of fangirl love.

Thanks to danse and Natea for the once over. Despite the fact this is part of Natea's birthday present, I still needed her to fill me in on the Alliance history they don't teach us on Horde, so thanks for that also =P

++++ __

Part VII  
Waning Starlight

Far across the ocean, on the edge of the continent of Kalimdor, was the rainy island of Theramore. Protected by jagged rocks in the surrounding bay and the perilous marshlands that separated it from the mainland, Theramore was a refuge for those who had fled Lordaeron when the threat of the Lich King's Scourge had begun to manifest, and it was there that Relena Proudmoore had established a new home for the Alliance far away from his grasp. Theramore was by no means as glorious as the old kingdom of Lordaeron had been, but it was thankfully still thriving, despite all odds, and those that lived there all did their part to revitalize the life they had left behind.

Today, the first day of the month, Relena and her assembly of advisers were hosting audiences with any citizens who wished to speak candidly with their leaders about their needs and concerns. It was an old royal tradition the Kushrenadas of Lordaeron had upheld when they had ruled their eastern homelands, and Relena recalled sitting in on many such audiences with fondness. She had been particular friends with Prince Treize Kushrenada before his fall from grace, and she knew she mostly kept such traditions in place in honour of the king she once thought he might have been.

Unfortunately, Relena was in low spirits that day, perhaps because of some troubling news she had heard from Stormwind about one of the royal guilds disappearing, and it left her with little patience for listening to the grievances of others. She sorely wished that her chief advisor, the high priest, Quatre, had been there, and then got to wondering where he might have gone.

"M'lady, what do you think?"

Relena startled from her thoughts, unwillfully returning to the moment at hand. A nobleman she recognized as one of Theramore's richest merchants stood before her, his entire demeanor that of one who was awaiting an answer. She shook her head, desperately hoping to recall something of what he had said, but found the only thing she could remember was the question of Quatre's whereabouts. Smoothing her white and lavender robes, she cleared her throat and congenially asked him to repeat himself.

The merchant seemed vaguely annoyed but at least had the sense to know his place. "About the trade routes," he intoned sharply. "I think we should establish more permanent bases between here and Ashenvale. It would increase our ability to shuttle goods to Astranaar. As it stands, our presence in Kalimdor is hardly-"

Suddenly, everything the merchant had been prattling on about returned to Relena and she straightened in an effort to look more imposing, despite her small stature. "Absolutely not," she declared before the merchant had a chance to finish. "Such a foolish thing would only do to upset the Horde settlements in the Barrens and Durotar. I will not allow this city-state to fall victim to the same pettiness that infects Stormwind." Her opinion on the matter was perhaps unpopular, but it was firm.

The merchant scowled, clearly not pleased with being denied his request. Contemptuously, he spat, "You would change your mind when orcs overrun and destroy us as they did Stormwind all those years ago. They are brutal animals that must be exterminated if we are to maintain our way of life." Then he turned abruptly on his heel and left for the door, pushing his way the murmuring crowd gathered in the audience chamber.

"Maybe our way of life is wrong!" Relena called after him angrily even though he was far from hearing her. She covered half her face with a dainty hand and slumped into the oversized throne with another frustrated sigh. It was this exhausted action that gave one of Relena's advisers the cue to step forward and announce that the audiences were over for the day. A low grumble rose from those who had not had the chance to speak yet, but they all obeyed the order to leave nonetheless. Soon, the audience chamber was thankfully quiet and empty, and Relena let out a much more relieved breath of air.

The adviser who had spoken for Relena was a purple-haired paladin by the name of Lucretzia Noin, and was another one of Relena's main confidants. Garbed in silver armour and a navy cloak, she stood straightly beside Relena's chair and spoke with the balanced air of one who had trained for the Order of the Silver Hand. "Too much for you to handle today, m'lady?" she asked.

"I guess I never appreciated how much I relied on Quatre's presence for such things," Relena admitted, glancing over at her friend. "After cousin Milliardo's news from Stormwind about the loss of his prized guild of rogues, I have found myself rather distracted."

A wry grin twisted Noin's face as she commented, "Ah, is that not the guild that Quatre's good friend belongs to? Oh, what was his name...?"

"Heero," Relena interjected automatically.

"Mm, how could I forget?" Noin continued smoothly, not bothering to mask the teasing in her voice anymore. "You are so very fond of him...."

"Lucretzia, please! I barely know him!" Relena exclaimed, her face burning so red, it clashed violently with her dark blond hair and lavender cloak. Though she knew Noin didn't mean anything by what she had said, it was still embarrassing all the same to have any attention drawn to the eyes she had for Quatre's best friend. She had only briefly met him a few times, and long ago at that, but there had been something about him that struck her. She supposed it was that mysterious air he seemed to exude so naturally; in the very least, it made her curious to know more about him. Frankly, however, it was the knowledge that someone who was reputed to be as adept a fighter as he was had gone missing that distressed her the most, and it left her wondering what mischief was afoot.

"Anyway, I think I'll retire to my study for the afternoon," Relena announced, pointedly ignoring the way Noin was smirking at her. She pushed herself out of the ridiculously large throne tradition insisted upon for whenever she was receiving an audience and started for the private staircase that led to her personal quarters at the top of the tower. She was actually quite eager to spend some time alone with her books; it was so rare that she was able to catch a moment to herself that she reveled deeply in them whenever they came along. If she could have it her own way, she would have stayed lost in the libraries at Dalaran her whole life.

She was nearly to the top of the stairs when a commotion from outside sent her scurrying back down a few steps to the window she had just passed. Peering through the thick glass, her shoulders sagged at this newest disruption, which, though not entirely unwelcome, certainly had chosen an ill time to manifest. Tapping her foot anxiously for a few moments, she closed her eyes, channeling the magical energies she commanded as a mage, and then conjured a portal to teleport herself instantaneously from the castle keep to the front gate.

In a burst of purple and green, Relena popped out at the main gate, where soldiers and townsfolk alike were hassling the pair of visitors that was being held up on the main bridge. The two outsiders, a pair of orcs - no one less than the Warchief Thrall and his right hand commander - had expected trouble on their errand today, and patiently waited for Relena to arrive and speak on their behalf. Or rather, Warchief Thrall waited patiently for his friend; Wufei Hellscream, on the other hand, was another matter altogether.

"How _dare_ you summon your entire army against only two of us?" Wufei snarled, a thick vein pulsating on his forehead. Though he still possessed the heavy-set features common in their race, Wufei was smaller and lither than most orcs, and his skin was the unnatural red hue of the orcs that had once been tainted by fel magics. His black hair was pulled into a tight ponytail behind his head, and his scowling lips were curled wide by the large pair of tusks that extended from his lower set of teeth. But the son of a great orc hero, Wufei made up for his unnatural appearances with combat skills that ranked him as one of the greatest warriors of Orgrimmar and a temper to match. Still aggrieved by the Alliance soldiers, he continued, "I dare you to lay a hand on either of us, pithy human! I will take down this entire lot of cowards myself!"

Thrall was holding his hand out, barring Wufei from making any advances, his face the very picture of embarrassment as Relena approached. "I am sorry for coming unannounced," Thrall began, his voice more deep and gravelly than any human's could ever hope to be. "But some of my scouts returned to me heralding troubling news and I could not wait to speak of it. I think it is something that concerns all of us." His face was grim, as was usually his way, but there was something about the way the warchief carried himself that was almost regal despite his imposing appearance.

Relena knew that her afternoon of reading would have to wait if Thrall would personally come all the way from Durotar to tell her such things. She abruptly ordered the soldiers to fall back and the townsfolk to return to their daily errands before beckoning Thrall and Wufei to follow her to the city's main keep. Walking next to Thrall, who was at least twice her size and far more girthed than any human, was a somewhat humbling experience, but her familiarity with the orc kept her from feeling any fear. They had grown to share an alliance of sorts, and had helped each other out of various situations not only for the common good, but because of the depth of their friendship. Rather, it was the presence of Wufei Hellscream that added a bit of uncertainty to Relena's gait that day: she had met him once or twice, but the clarity with which he detested humans was enough of a reminder as to why the Horde and the Alliance still had a long way to go before they could ever truly be allies. It was only Thrall's trust in him that she allowed him to enter Theramore at all.

She led them to her private study and closed the door, knowing that she could easily teleport out of harm's way should Wufei do something that made her feel uncomfortable. Settling down at her desk, she invited the two orcs to sit on nearby chairs, but they both refused, preferring to stand like proud warriors. Not wasting any more time with pleasantries, she quickly cut down to business: "So what is this news you bring me, friend?" she asked, addressing Thrall.

Thrall let out a low grunt, tossing his head. "I am almost certain that a dangerous relic that was once in the possession of the Horde has been stolen," he announced without any fanfare. He stroked one of the thick braids in his long, black beard, frowning at the very suggestion of it. "It is not an easy thing to do - I saw to the division and distribution of this relic amongst the leaders of the Horde myself - but each and every piece has vanished from under our noses. I just received word this morning that the fragment I had entrusted to Lady Catalonia has been taken." Another low grunt escaped Thrall's lips as he added, "This is coming mere days after the report that the piece belonging to Silvermoon disappeared."

Relena pursed her lips, folding her hands tightly on her lap. "And I shall assume that you have also lost pieces of this relic that were stored in Thunderbluff, Orgrimmar and Sen'jin?" she queried. "How did this not trigger any warning bells earlier?"

Surprisingly, it was Wufei who interjected next: "That is exactly what I said!" he snapped testily. Shooting Relena a sharp glare, he snorted derisively at her, "It is a sad day when even a human - a _female_ no less - can show more sense than the lord of the mighty Horde."

Thrall growled menacingly at Wufei, and Relena tried her best to remain cordial. By means of explanation, Thrall said, "When the one held in Orgrimmar vanished, I bade the blood elves and the Forsaken to hide their pieces of this evil artifact more dutifully. But that they, too, are now gone, I can only imagine it is the work of scheming thieves, and clever ones at that."

Flexing her hands, Relena lifted a curled finger to her chin, pondering the matter further. Such a calculated series of burglaries seemed like it could only be the work of a highly skilled pack of rogues, which instantly reminded her of the missing Stormwind guild. She wasn't sure if this was something she should divulge to Thrall just yet, especially with Wufei there, but it was definitely worth keeping track of. In lieu of that information, she instead said, "What gives you cause to bring this to me only now?"

"Even with only four of the five pieces, the sigil is useless," Thrall explained. "The matter was not dire until I heard the final fragment was taken."

"And what will happen if this sigil is reforged?" Relena was keen to ask.

"I fear it already has been," said Thrall morosely. "If that is so, then a great dreadlord of the Burning Legion has found some unfortunate soul to feed on until it can regain its full power.

"And then?" she pressed, already fairly certain of where this tale was heading.

Thrall never got a chance to respond, because it was then that Wufei interjected again. "We will be mere pebbles underfoot as it trounces across Azeroth, searching for a way to steal the Lich King's power!" he cried, clenching his fists tightly. "The fool that besot this upon us should be unmanned - and the one bearing the sigil, dispatched before he unwittingly sends us all to our end!"

Relena paled, finding the situation all too similar to the one that had brought Treize to his end, suddenly fearing what Heero's involvement in all this might be. She wished she could come up with an immediate solution, but she knew it was something she would have to mull over. Unfortunately, she realized, time wasn't exactly a luxury anyone could bear too afford.

So, as she sat there struggling with the weight of all these things, it was almost fortunate when the study door burst open and Quatre came stumbling in, frazzled. He was babbling about needing her mage powers for some important task or other, so she quickly excused herself to help him. Her head pounded at this sudden assault of dark knowledge, wondering what there was to be done. She only wished she knew more.

Before it was too late.

A sudden Arathi rainstorm sent Heero, Duo, Trowa and Heavypaw scattering for shelter beneath a large outcropping of rock. The sun, though hidden behind the horizon, still emanated a brilliant orange glow that bled out from behind the gray clouds, though it hardly did much for illumination in the torrential downpour. Figuring they might be stuck there for a while yet, Duo took it upon himself to conjure a small campfire they could warm themselves by while they waited out the worst of the storm. The crackling of magical embers whispered beneath the pelt of the rain, only able to thrive because of Duo's mana in the dampness.

Trowa stared blankly at the fire for a few moments as if he were thinking intently. He kept drumming his fingers against his satchel as if he were impatiently waiting for something, though there was something in his demeanor that suggested it wasn't the passing of the rain. Heavypaw lay nearby, his tail idly flicking back and forth in a hapless way that completely countered the demeanor of his master, which only seemed to irritate Trowa further. At last, he abruptly stood as best he could underneath the rock outcropping, announcing plainly, "I'm going to find something to eat." He shouldered his bow as if to make his statement more definite.

"You'll drown out there," said Duo, who was lounging against the craggy wall where the overhanging boulder met the hillside. Warm and cold made no difference to him, but water never agreed with him well.

Trowa just stared back at Duo, offering him a look that seemed to crackle with a fire of its own. "Then it is fortunate I am already soaked," he intoned dismissively. Then, with a flourish of his cloak, he vanished into the rain like some kind of apparition with Heavypaw at his heels.

Heero, who was huddled as close to the fire as he could get, surreptitiously tracked Trowa's movements until he had gone and then turned his attention back to the flame, albeit with the same contemplative air Trowa had possessed earlier. At length, he lifted his chin and asked Duo, "Is he always like that, or is it a show for the likes of me?" His tone sounded a little bitter, like he didn't appreciate Trowa's unnecessary disdain.

Duo cocked his head, clearly not expecting to be asked such a question. "A little of both, perhaps," he answered congenially. He eyed Heero from behind his ratty bangs, curious: sometimes the things Heero said and did unearthed sentiments that Duo had been certain he'd left behind in life.

Heero grit his teeth, obviously more frustrated by Trowa's demeanor than he'd previously let on. "Faction ties or not, we are venturing together; he has no right to belittle me so," he complained more to the fire than to Duo, hardly taking notice of Asahi, who had come chittering across the floor to comfort Heero with a twitter of his antennae.

"He is the prince of a proud and wrecked race. You can't expect much," Duo said with a shrug, trying hard to make it sound like he was indifferent to the matter, though truth be told, it had been bothering him just as much. He wondered if things might have been playing out differently without Trowa's interference. Things certainly would have felt a lot more even keel between them, Duo thought; Trowa's constant scrutiny could be just as nerve-wracking to Duo as it surely was to Heero.

But Duo's reasoning didn't seem to be enough of a reason to settle Heero's unease. "Yes, but even _you_ at least pretend to tolerate me," Heero pointed out morosely. He leaned a cheek into his hand, glancing down at Asahi, who was still trying hard to get Heero's undivided attention. "Tell me true," he continued, still refusing to meet Duo's eyes, even as he addressed him. "Were it not for this demon's curse, would you have killed me that day I came back into your sight?"

The question caught Duo off guard, and he stiffened, hoping that Heero wouldn't catch his sudden wariness. "It is hard to say," Duo said, his hands spread flat across the ground on either side of him. "As it is, you are of more use to me alive than dead. A champion of the Alliance - do not think your reputation has not proceeded you." He shrugged again, the yellowy light in his eye sockets flickering mysteriously as he added, "I knew who you were the moment I caught you slinking around the Sepulcher that first time. Hearing you speak your own name only confirmed it." His lips curled up into a wry smile that distorted his already skewed face even more. "So, no," he drawled, "I think I might have found an excuse to make _some_ kind of use for you regardless."

"I suppose that is a comfort," Heero groused tightly, though it was hard to tell if he really thought so. His eyes darted across the floor, eventually settling upon Asahi's erratic scuttling beside his boot. "It's a wonder I even lived to see beyond Tarren Mill; for a while, I was beginning to think that I was already dead."

"It must have just been another trick of the demon while you were under his sleeping enchantment," Duo said, his speech returning to its usual pace now that the topic had started to steer back into more neutral territory.

At last, Heero looked up, meeting Duo's empty eyes with an expression of shock. "I was asleep all that time? And you carried me here?" he wondered aloud, clearly not sure he had heard correctly. "Then it really is a wonder I am alive; I would swear that under such circumstances, you'd have left me to die."

Insulted at such an accusation, Duo crossed his arms and turned his nose upwards. "I am not completely without honour, you know. My heart once beat as yours does," he said, offended. Then he bore his ghastly stare straight through Heero's heart: "When I kill you, you will know it, for I will raise my blade to your face and cut your throat while you are watching, understand?"

Once again, his tone was serious, but Heero wasn't sure he could take comfort in his words this time. Heero quickly dropped his attention back to Asahi, who was ignorant of all the strange energy crackling between them. Despite Duo's claim that he still reserved certain qualities he'd maintained in life, Heero wondered how much death had really changed the warlock. He shifted uncomfortably, not sure what to think about in order to settle his racing nerves.

"If you are tired, sleep some more - I won't hurt you," Duo said after watching Heero grow more restless with each passing moment. "You may think me a monster, but take solace in the knowledge that the monster that resides within _you_ is a far more fearsome beast." He chuckled darkly and folded his hands behind his head as he leaned back against the rock face. "It is perhaps even ironic to note that what plagues you is also what has saved you."

Heero frowned at the fire as he rolled Duo's words around in his head, contemplating them fiercely. Such words did not bode well with his conscience or his duty to the Alliance. But more puzzling, still, was Duo's intent with him; he found the notion of it just as troublesome as the idea that the demon sigil had transformed him into something sinister. His natural inclination was to ask Duo directly, but he had a suspicion that the mysterious warlock would only clam up and avoid telling him anything further.

Duo, meanwhile, had found entertainment in watching Heero in a way that was almost voyeuristic. "You wear your thoughts on your face, human," he said, intrigued by the despair ingrained into Heero's features. "Share them with me."

Heero jolted like he meant to turn his eyes back towards Duo, but he forcibly kept them focused on the embers, his stern brow knit. He frowned, not keen to explain his anguish, and deliberated over whether or not he should acknowledge Duo's command at all. At last, he relented and sighed, "For the life of me, I cannot discern what my place is in all this." Admitting the fact aloud did not do much to alleviate his troubled thoughts.

The amusement faded from Duo's features as quickly as it had arrived. He readjusted his position, drawing his knees up to rest his forearms across them as he suddenly took interest in the twitching of Asahi's antennae. The question reeked similarly to the comments about destiny Trowa had left him with as they were leaving Hillsbard, and he found such grandeur did not sit well with him. When he answered, Duo spoke slowly and cautiously, as if he were afraid he might slip up and reveal something he did not intend to. "In life, I thought I had been called to do a lot of things - things that were supposed to serve a higher purpose - things that were supposed make a difference," he said, all the while fiddling with a tassel on his sash. "But my failure in all of them left me with the realization that nothing I could ever do would change the course of anything. I still lost the ones I wanted to protect, still lost my home... still died. And everything is still as it was all those years ago." He grit his crooked teeth and balled his mismatched fists in frustration as he bowed his head.

During this admission, Heero had found his eyes drawn back to Duo, his mouth parted in awe at what Duo had just shared. Though it hadn't been much, that resounding human quality he'd noted earlier had been latent in Duo's words, and he found himself oddly moved by it. He almost dared not speak, afraid he might take away from the poignancy of Duo's story.

"Sometimes, all I want," Duo eventually murmured, "is to be home again."

The air Heero was holding in his lungs was becoming stale, but he dared not let it out, even as he gasped softly, "Where is home?" He hardly dared to breathe when he spoke.

"Somewhere," Duo answered, his scratchy voice muffled by the folds of his robes as he looked away. "I don't know."

And for the first time since they'd met, Heero felt like he understood.

Suffice to say, Trowa's day had not been going well at all.

Their trip to Arathi had been arduous enough, between carrying Heero's unconscious body to one of the summoning circles and then performing the Tauren ritual to speak with the Earthmother and beg for her help. He had nearly strangled Duo when the ritual nearly went awry, even though it wasn't exactly Duo's fault that there was more slumbering beneath the ground than they had assumed. Duo's Tauren chant had somehow managed to also awaken a titan princess that had been imprisoned by the magic of the enchanted stone circles, and her unexpected rampage had thrown Trowa and Duo into a battle they weren't entirely prepared for. Though they managed to fell her, they were so fatigued from the skirmish that it was an hour before Duo had the strength to attempt the ritual again.

Then, if that had not been enough, he was starving and had yet to find anything worth hunting in the downpour, plus the fact that he still had not heard from Quatre, the thought of which only served to make his need for something arcane worsen. Now that he was alone, Trowa was seriously considering a chat with the priest, if only to at least sate himself with the knowledge that something magical would soon be coming his way, for he was not sure how much longer he could stand without anything to calm his need. It made him sorely wish he could be more like Duo, who only required a rare drink of blood every now and again.

Rummaging through the personal pouch he carried, Trowa soon unearthed the owl charm he had used to contact Quatre the first time. He didn't care what sort of promises they had made before; he needed that magical energy immediately. Rubbing his finger across the silver owl, there was a flash of aquamarine energy, and then the hovering light of the communication portal. Inside the glowing window, Quatre looked surprised, though it was uncertain whether that was due to the unexpected communication, or simply seeing Trowa's face once more.

"Your L-Lordship," the priest stammered, wringing his hands beneath the huge, white sleeves of his robe. "I was under the impression I had a little more time before I would hear from you."

Trowa's hand cut through the rain as he flicked it nonchalantly and said, "My misery trumps all else. I need you to help me, and I need for it to be right now." For once, his words were actually in line with how he felt: standing there in the rain, dripping wet, cold and hungry for both food and magic, he didn't even have the wherewithal to make a threat against Heero's wellbeing. Were it not for his long, elfin ears and glowing, green eyes, he might have actually been mistaken for a common human in such a humbled state. Shivering, he sneezed, immediately embarrassed by it.

Meanwhile, Quatre, who was safe and warm in one of Lady Relena's many libraries, was feeling somewhat conflicted. Here he was, at the mercy of a hundred other tasks, when the presumptuous blood elf had interrupted him, demanding his assistance. Quatre's natural instinct was, of course, to help Trowa as best he could, but there was still a part of him that felt a little bitter towards the elf for acting as he had. He thought that it would be Trowa's just desserts to suffer until the agreed upon delivery for the magical item he had yet to enchant, but it was hard for him to go against his nature and deny him the help, even if it was what the Sunbender prince probably deserved.

Sighing, Quatre sat down in a nearby chair, still eyeing the rain-soaked Trowa through the portal. Compromising with himself, he said to the elf, "If you could perhaps grace me with a more kindly entreaty, then I shall do my best to see to your request."

Never one to take orders, Trowa pursed his lips as he forced himself to comply. "It would honour me greatly if you would see to my aid," he groused, looking away. He spoke so low, his words almost were lost beneath the shatter of the falling rain. "Please... anar'alah belore," he murmured desperately, unsure how much longer he could last.

It was that almost inaudible please that struck Quatre the most, moved by Trowa's Thalassian reference to the sun. "Sinu a'manore," he answered reverently. He paused for a moment, glancing at the nearby table and picking up the first object he found lying there, which happened to be an unused quill. Then, rising gracefully, he addressed the waning Trowa: "I'll be but a moment. Please wait."

Trowa's shoulders heaved as he allowed a tiny, grateful smile to tug at his otherwise grim lips. Then, without warning, he suddenly collapsed out of the portal's view, dropping to the ground as if his very soul had been drained from his body.

[last]   
**TBC!!**


	8. Light as a Feather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Title: ** _ **The Forsaken** _

**Title: ** _ **The Forsaken** _

**Author: **Link Worshiper

**Pairings:** 1=2, maybe some others if I feel like it

**Rating: **PG-13

**Stuff:** Fantasy AU, fluff, sap, language, adventure, WoW nerdiness

**Disclaimer:** I own Gundam Wing action figures? Warcraft and its lore belongs to Blizzard Entertainment. Both things are being played with out of fangirl love.

Thanks to danse and Natea for the once over. Despite the fact this is part of Natea’s birthday present, I still needed her to fill me in on the Alliance history they don’t teach us on Horde, so thanks for that also =P

-

_Part VIII_

_Light as a Feather_

-

“I do hope my interruption was not at an inconvenience,” Quatre was saying as he dragged Relena away from her study, “but I panicked, and I need your help.”

“Where are we going?” Relena asked, more than happy to help Quatre if it meant buying her some time to think about the things Thrall and Wufei had told her.

“This way,” said Quatre, leading her back towards the library where he had been speaking with Trowa. He had been so startled when he saw the blood elf prince literally wilt right before his eyes that he had abandoned everything almost immediately to seek out Relena. She was one of the most powerful mages in Azeroth; surely she would know a way to help him get to Trowa quickly.

Their robes swished around their legs as they shuffled onwards, and before long, Quatre was ushering Relena into the library, where the communication portal still lingered in the middle of the room, glowing with the hazy image of nothing more than sheeting rain. She lifted a curious finger at it, wandering closer to investigate while Quatre explained what had happened.

“I had originally been planning to make something very powerful in hopes he wouldn’t bother me for a while, but he surprised me today,” Quatre said, stooping to pick up the feather he’d been in the middle of enchanting when Trowa had passed out. “He sounded desperate, but while I was throwing together a more last minute solution, he just… toppled.” He made a cascading motion with his hands to illustrate. “I guess he needed it far more than I imagined.”

Relena nodded, a hand curled beneath her chin as she tried to think of a solution. “I don’t know where he is, so I’m not sure I can create a portal to his side,” she mused aloud, “but maybe we can do something more makeshift?” She glanced back at Quatre, who was twirling the quill around his fingers nervously. “What is it exactly that you want to do?”

He abruptly stopped, clenching the feather tightly as he said, “By the Light, at no end do I want to end up anywhere near the likes of _that_” – he gestured towards the communication portal with a nod of his head – “but I still need to help him.”

Furrowing her brow, Relena stared at her friend quixotically. She didn’t understand how a person could want to both help and deride a person at the same time, but she supposed it wasn’t her place to judge. “I’ll leave you to your reasons,” she said with a shrug, stepping towards the portal. “Though perhaps you will want to finish that spell before I open a pathway between here and there.”

Quatre nodded and turned to do just that, though he couldn’t help but crumple the quill into a clenched fist as he distractedly started to murmur an incantation that would give the feather holy revival powers. The plain writing implement began to shimmer gold and white as it absorbed the magic, transforming the everyday item into a trinket that any careful adventurer would do to keep in his pocket should he require a healing aid. Finished, Quatre faced Relena again, holding the feather out wordlessly.

“I’m going to try and convert this portal of yours into one that will let us pass the quill through,” Relena explained, already rummaging through her robes for the rune she used to manipulate her transportation magic. “I’ve never tried to do something like this before, though, so I have no idea if it will work.” She tried to offer Quatre a reassuring smile as she took the feather in one hand and held her rune-inscribed stone in the other. Shoving both objects into the glowing portal, she started to chant, focusing all her will into the experimental spell that it might be successful.

“Please work,” Quatre muttered under his breath, wringing the huge, white sleeves of his robe. “He’s our only clue to finding Heero.”

Overhearing what Quatre had said, Relena nearly broke her concentration at the startling bit of news. Luckily, she was able to instead use it as further incentive to assert the triumph of this spell, and soon found it was beginning to work. With a flash of purple and green, her hands began to sink into the portal’s image, and soon, were becoming damp with the rainwater splattering down on the other end. Giving the feather a wave, it glowed and poured its reviving light over Trowa’s comatose body before she let go of it and drew her hands back into the library. Then she gave Quatre a sharp look and said flatly, “You didn’t tell me _everything_, it would seem.”

Quatre’s face was fraught, obviously wracked with guilt. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he insisted, flapping his sleeves frantically. “I just… well… I didn’t think that it was something that would concern you, that’s all.” He knew Relena fancied Heero, but he’d always written that off as a frivolous interest, even though she had been carrying a torch for him since her student days in Dalaran. If he hadn’t known that their lack of real interaction there had been at the expense of Heero’s fascination with someone else – another boy, to be exact – he might have even facilitated her a bit, but that would have only been giving her even more false hopes.

Meanwhile, Relena reached up to run her fingers along the twin braids that wound around her head, a nervous habit she’d picked up ever since becoming the ruler of her own city-state. “Quatre,” she said, her voice soft but firm, “just down the hall is the orc chief of the Horde, who has come to us because he is concerned about a cursed amulet that was stolen from his ranks; my cousin’s prize guild of thieves is missing, and you think that Heero’s whereabouts are of no consequence to me?” She dropped her hands and let them hang limply at her sides as she added a bit more frantically, “You know he is the leader of that very guild, and I refuse to believe they are unrelated.”

Conceding that Relena did have a fair point, Quatre sighed an apology. “He said he and his traveling companion had made some sort of pact with Heero,” Quatre went on to inform her, recalling the first conversation he had with Trowa. “They’re keeping him their hostage and are clearly traveling somewhere, as they seemed to be in a glade before this rain-soaked plane. But to where they are going, I have not a whit.” He shrugged helplessly, wishing there was more he could say.

Relena frowned, not sure what to make of this new revelation. She didn’t have much more time to consider it, though, for behind her, there was a brilliant flash of gold within the stormy portal, and then the clink of rustling chain mail. Both Quatre and Relena whirled towards the portal, staring almost idiotically at it as the proud figure of Trowa Sunbender rose to fill its scope. He still looked like a drowned rat, but there was definitely something more confident and sure about him that extended beyond his royal blood, clearly a byproduct of Quatre’s magic. It was then that Quatre realized what an imposing creature the elf truly was, and wondered if he had really done well to revitalize him. He silently thanked Elune that Trowa was at least a kind of ally for the time being, shuddering to think what sort of enemy he would make.

“I thank you, priest,” Trowa said airily, the best impression of gratitude that he could muster, though it wasn’t very good. “You can rest assured that I will not murder your sneaky friend in the night with skills like yours.”

Quatre wasn’t sure such a promise comforted him very much, but he muscled a strained grin nevertheless. “Then can I count on you to tell me what it is you are seeking in Azeroth?” he asked, deciding that there was no sense in playing word games with Trowa. “You cannot hope to persuade me that you are venturing forth without cause.”

Trowa was only slightly moved to tell Quatre the whole of it, despite what he had promised before. Vaguely, he replied, “Not seeking, but quelling.”

Both Quatre and Relena tensed at these words, sensing the correlation between the news borne by Thrall and Trowa’s clue, scant as it was. Subtly, Quatre gripped Relena’s wrist, a silent entreaty not to alert Trowa to the fact that what he had said meant something to either of them, and she pursed her lips accordingly.

It was then that Trowa cast a glance in Relena’s direction, and he arched his eyebrows with amusement at the sight of her. “Ah, the Lady Proudmoore,” he greeted her, though his voice was still twanged with a hint of dissonance. “Are you here to weasel out some sort of negotiation for our rogue friend? I wouldn’t count on it so easily….”

“Your secrecy is unbecoming, fair prince,” Relena tartly retorted.

“As is your diplomacy,” said Trowa, his eyes narrowed. “You would do well to know that under such circumstances, your friend’s life rests in his ability to keep his word.”

Quatre chose that moment to ask an all-important question: “And what, exactly, is it that Heero has promised you?”

There was a pause as Trowa mulled over an answer. Then, his lips curled up into an almost dastardly smile as he said, “To betray the Alliance.”

-

Trowa trekked back through the rain to the dry encampment under the rock ledge, where he’d left Duo and Heero. Heero had curled up near the fire and was asleep, while Duo still huddled in the same place he’d been when Trowa had left. He was staring contemplatively at Heero’s balled up form as it rose and fell with his every breath. He barely even seemed to notice Trowa’s return.

“Put out that fire,” Trowa announced abruptly, only vaguely concerned by Duo’s uncharacteristic silence. “I saw some Allies while I was mucking about. We need to move before they find us.” He neatly avoided detailing that the Allies in question were far away in Theramore, but it wasn’t something he probably could have explained well, even if he wanted to.

A low growl rumbled in the back of Duo’s throat at Trowa’s words, indicating that he wasn’t as dazed as he initially appeared. It was hard to tell if he was more annoyed at Trowa for compromising their position or if he was just loath to move so suddenly. Warily, he got to his feet and nudged Heero with his toe as he walked towards the fire, which he then smothered with his cloak before tossing it back over his shoulders.

Heero blearily opened his eyes, confused by the midnight interruption. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, frowning at the sight of Trowa and Duo hastily packing up their bags. Though he’d been sleeping under the Epyon demon’s power for some time, he hadn’t had any real rest in what seemed like an eternity, and he was absolutely shattered. “Where are we going?” he wanted to know.

“Onwards,” sighed Duo, who sounded very weary, despite the fact that the Forsaken had no need for sleep. He kicked the provisions pack towards Heero and added, “I’m sorry.”

Heero swallowed the rest of his discontent and shouldered the leather satchel without a word. He’d been trained in survival skills since a young age and had managed to endure far less savoury situations than this. Complaining wouldn’t change things, so he bit his tongue and followed his keepers back into the rainstorm.

It was pitch black in Arathi as they hustled across the stony terrain, careful not to slip on the slick rock beneath their feet as they headed south towards the wetlands. It was ironic that Trowa had moved them out to escape Allies by rushing them into enemy territory. The wetlands weren’t overly populated, but what few settlements existed there were very prominently Alliance affiliated. It was doubtful that the tricks that had worked to move Heero through the Horde villages would have the same effect if they tried it on any Allies.

“I can tell you right now, I’m sick of this damned rain,” Duo muttered as a fierce lightning bolt crackled overhead, illuminating the area for a scant moment. They had to be careful as they continued: there were ogres living near the border, and they were hostile towards everything.

“Don’t expect it to let up anytime soon,” said Trowa, obviously happy to put a further damper on Duo’s disposition.

Heero kept his personal thoughts to himself as they continued, privately glad that they would soon be heading for more familiar territory. Despite what Duo and Trowa seemed to suspect, he had no plans to try escaping from them with the demonic curse still plaguing him. He even supposed it was more beneficial relying on the two of them as opposed to a fellow Ally, who was likely to send word to King Milliardo about the whole thing. Truth be told, the more Heero thought about it, the less he liked the idea of Milliardo knowing anything at all. Better the Stormwind monarch think him dead until he was certain the demon’s power was silenced. He wondered if that was considered betrayal.

Thunder boomed loud in their ears, rolling across the sky like the drums of the Tauren. Something about its grandeur instilled a quicker pace in the trio as they hurried onwards, though wet as they were, it wouldn’t have done them much good to find shelter at that point. Another flicker of lightning came, almost immediately followed by the rumbling of thunder, and the rain started to hiss down upon them even harder. The pattern continued, slowly becoming more and more intense with each repetition, almost as if the very sky was trying to spite them. The thunderclaps became more and more intense, almost as if they were sounding over top one another. Even the ground seemed to rumble underfoot as the surrounding mountains started to funnel the land into a narrow pass.

Suddenly, there was a great roar that rose up above the tumultuous storm, and the trio skittered to a stop, realizing that the shaking earth and echoing thunder wasn’t a trick of the sky. In a flash of lightning, they saw, looming before them, a great Boulderfist ogre brandishing a spiked club at them. It had a mighty girth and an ugly face that looked as if it was a great mass of dough that had been beaten into shape with a tree branch. It was then that they realized that they had strayed a bit too close to the Boulderfist caves, though it seemed a hazard that anyone looking to cross the Thandol Span would have to overcome.

They stood there hesitantly, all three staring back at the enraged ogre as if they had no idea what they ought to do. But when the ogre let out another yell, rallying more of the brutes to come crawling out of the caves, Trowa simply growled, “Run.”

At the sight of more warriors and even some of the double-headed shamans of the Boulderfist clan, neither Heero nor Duo needed a second urging. All three of them broke into a sprint with Heavypaw blazing ahead towards the great canyon that separated the highlands from the low wetlands of Khaz Modan. The Thandol Span, once a mighty dwarven bridge that connected the two landmasses, now lay in ruins and had been replaced with only a meager, wooden footbridge to act in its stead. It was shaky and unreliable, and all of them prayed that the storm hadn’t managed to destroy their only escape with the ogres hot on their heels.

“Just keep going! Don’t even stop!” Trowa shouted, urging them onwards as the wooden bridge came into view, swinging perilously over the gorge. Heavypaw leapt forward, landing on the first few planks of the bridge with a nerve-wracking creak as Trowa charged on not far behind.

Duo, however, did stop, long enough to summon his blue genie companion from the nether. He bade it to try and slow the oncoming ogres as he and Heero made for the bridge as well, and it obeyed with an exaggerated bow before executing the command. The voidwalker brandished its fearsome talons and soon set to the task of ripping into the first ogre it met, while Heero and Duo used the time they had been bought to distance themselves even further from the Boulderfist threat.

Soon Heero and Duo were on the bridge as well, though the weight of their entire group only did to make the rickety passageway swing more violently in the wind. Heero had never been afraid of heights, and in the past, had launched himself off many a precarious ledge, but this was entirely different: once glance over the side of the bridge sent a disconcerting swallow down his throat, and he tried not to think about whether or not his death would be worse if he smacked the water or bashed his skull on the rocks when he fell.

Meanwhile, Heavypaw and Trowa had managed to get safely to the other side, while the other two were still about halfway across the bridge. The elf was shouting back at his two companions, but his words were drowned in the howling gales, and they missed Trowa’s warning that the voidwalker had been defeated by the ogres, who were now charging after them once more. In fact, it wasn’t until the bridge suddenly lurched with the weight of the first ogre that either Heero or Duo even glanced behind them, and the realization that their time was starting to run dangerously thin struck them more savagely than even the pelting rain.

When two more ogres clambered onto the narrow bridge, the urge to react to the situation filled both of them, though both thought to do so in completely different ways. While Duo, who was ahead of Heero, thought to kick in and run as fast as he could towards Trowa, Heero resolutely planted his feet and turned around, ready to hold his ground even though the only weapon he carried was a dagger Duo had stolen from the Syndicate thieves earlier. He was still afraid of falling, but he knew if he didn’t get those ogres off the bridge soon, there was no way both of them would be able to make it across before the whole thing snapped beneath them.

Heero’s plan, though noble, was not very well thought out, and was over before he even had a chance to swing his blade once. With the weight of just one more ogre on the Arathi side of the bridge came the unsettling groan of straining rope as the bridge’s lashings started to give way. Heero could hear Trowa screaming insults and Duo yelling unhelpful advice from somewhere behind him, but he only had the sense to take a few, slow steps backwards.

Then, almost unexpectedly, there was a sudden crack, and the bridge surrendered to the force bearing down upon it. Right in the middle, where it was the weakest, the bridge snapped in half the moment the leading ogre set his heavy foot down, sending him plummeting down into the rapids churning at the bottom of the Thandol gorge. The two halves of the bridge swung apart, dumping a few more of the clumsy ogres into the ravine on one end, while Heero, who was smaller and lither, clung like a drowned rat to the last few planks of his.

“Oh, for the love of _Elune_!” Duo swore as he watched the spectacle from Trowa’s side. He had just managed to scramble to safety when the bridge had fallen apart, but he had only just realized that Heero hadn’t been right behind him until he turned around and saw the human clinging to the end. He glanced over at Trowa, who was frowning deeply, but wasn’t making any moves to lend a hand. With a heavy sigh, Duo cast off his robes and deftly started to scramble down the planks in only his vest, britches and boots, ignoring Trowa’s clear disapproval.

Descending the now-vertical bridge as if it were a swaying rope ladder, Duo was nearing Heero at a pace that was perhaps a bit too hasty for safety’s sake, though such a thought never even entered his mind as he moved. All he could think about was making sure that Heero got out of this mess alive. Finally reaching the bottom, where Heero was struggling to keep his grip on the splintered wood. Gripping the planks with his skeletal hand, Duo thrust his fleshy forearm down towards Heero, offering it in such a way that it would be easy for the clambering rogue to grab on.

It took Heero a few moments to register what was going on: his eyes were full of rainwater, and he felt as if the amount that he had swallowed would be enough to drown him right there. Squinting up at Duo, he could barely make out Duo’s rotted face, distracted by what appeared to be a scarred emblem burned into the underside of Duo’s forearm. He stared at it, unable to make himself react until his brain managed to recall the seal as that of the Scarlet Crusade. This, of course, only served to bring a hundred more questions to mind, but at least Heero was able to force himself into reaching up to grab onto Duo’s proffered arm with that unexpected distraction out of the way.

Duo helped Heero hoist himself out of peril, and soon, they were both clambering back up the bridge-ladder to where Trowa was waiting impatiently. The climb back up was much less harrowing than the one going down, and they were both able to move faster, eager to put that danger behind them. When they got to the top, Trowa grudgingly hauled them back up, and they both collapsed onto the ground to catch some air, despite the storm that was still hounding the land.

Despite this, Heero still noted how quick Duo was to throw his robes back over his decrepit body, tucking the peculiar Scarlet emblem away from his prying eyes. Willing himself to look away, he fought to swallow his curiosity about it and chose to pretend like he’d never even seen it.


	9. Seadog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Title: ** _ **The Forsaken** _

**Title: ** _ **The Forsaken** _

**Author: **Link Worshiper

**Pairings:** 1=2, maybe some others if I feel like it

**Rating: **PG-13

**Stuff:** Fantasy AU, fluff, sap, language, adventure, WoW nerdiness

**Disclaimer:** I own Gundam Wing action figures? Warcraft and its lore belongs to Blizzard Entertainment. Both things are being played with out of fangirl love.

Thanks to danse and Natea for the once over. Despite the fact this is part of Natea’s birthday present, I still needed her to fill me in on the Alliance history they don’t teach us on Horde, so thanks for that also =P

-

I thought I would take a moment here to tell all of you readers, who think I stopped writing after ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ was ripped off this site so many years ago, that this is hardly the case. If you would like to read any of my fics from the past four years, please visit my site at . Thanks!

I might also add here that I will probably censor the version of this fic. Though I hear the site has become more lenient in content since the witch hunt of four years ago, I’m not taking any chances. Once again, you can find the unedited version on my LJ or my site. Though there won’t be any edits until it starts getting… good.

-

_Part VIII_

_Seadog_

-

The low wetlands of Khaz Modan was a marshy, wooded area that fell under Alliance control. Once a thriving home for many of Ironforge’s dwarves, the place had fallen into more chaotic times, now rife with wildlife, the occasional murloc village, and a few pockets of unfriendly Dark Iron dwarves. It wasn’t much to travel there undetected, but it involved staying off the main roads, which were well traversed by the Alliance dwarves and humans who held the harbour to the west. And as far as Duo Blackscythe was concerned, playing it safe was just another euphemism for wasting time.

Still, they had to dodge an old, ruined dwarven town at the mouth of the wetlands that was now occupied by the Dark Irons. This clan of black sorcerers had alienated themselves from the dwarves of Ironforge, which was a close ally to Stormwind, and had been exiled to the volcanic lands to the south. Small crops of them could be found scattered between the Burning Steppes and the wetlands, and they were a rather hostile lot, eternally bitter that their campaign to rule over the other Ironforge dwarves had failed. Neither Duo nor Trowa particularly feared them, but Heero, who had fought with them before, knew them to be a more threatening enemy than most people gave them credit for. At least avoiding them this time proved to be relatively simple.

The rain had slowed to a misty drizzle as they pressed onwards along the main pathway. Duo kept prattling on about making good time, but it was clear that even he was a bit weary from their near death experience at the Thandol Span. Heero wanted to suggest making camp for even a few hours, but he knew he would be berated for even trying to suggest it, so he kept his mouth shut. Instead, he let himself wonder about the scarred Scarlet Crusade crest he’d seen burned into Duo’s flesh and tried to come up with an explanation for it. Despite the fact that he’d told himself to forget about it, such a strange thing wasn’t so easily ignored. The Scarlets were an extremist faction of overly religious humans that were hellbent on eradicating the undead from the face of Azeroth: it led Heero to wonder if Duo’s burn mark signified a past affiliation with them or was a torturous reminder of capture after he’d died.

After a little more walking, it was actually Trowa that broke the silence. “You know,” he said, slowing to a halt, “we’re starting to run a little low on provisions.” They were standing at a fork in the road that split the path between Menethil Harbour and the southern route that led to the Loch. Trowa’s eyes kept darting between the two roads, unsure if it would be a worthwhile detour to head to the harbour to steal.

Jutting out his chin, Duo sighed with annoyance. “Well,_ maybe_ if you hadn’t sent us rushing out of Arathi so prematurely, we would have had time to make sure that we had packed all your precious ‘food’,” he snapped, making airquotes around that last word. “The blame lies with no one other than yourself.”

Silently, Heero agreed with Duo, but he knew that they wouldn’t make it much longer if they didn’t have anything to eat. He sorely wished Duo would at least concede to take a break while they deliberated over what to do.

“So let the Alliance find us. Wonderful,” Trowa sneered sarcastically, rolling his green eyes. He glanced down at Heavypaw, who was anxiously pacing back and forth. “I’m not wasting arrows on squirrels, so dare not even mention it,” Trowa added, stealing the suggestion right from Duo’s mouth. True enough, the only things that might have offered them good meat were too small to bother with.

Duo glanced at Heero, who seemed like he was about to fall over his own feet, despite the strong way he was trying to carry himself. Scowling, he gave in. “Very well, we’ll stop,” he said morosely. “Maybe we’ll send the human into the harbour town to steal what you need.” He sent another glance at Heero, saying, “You _are_ a rogue, are you not? Stealing is the only thing you’re good for.” It was hard to tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

Heero chose not to rise to the bait and instead just shrugged his shoulders. They turned down the path leading towards the ocean, all the while keeping an eye out for a discreet spot to settle for the interim.

When they finally found a place to bunker down, Trowa barely let Heero sit before he was shooing him further down the path. “The sooner you go, the sooner we can leave,” he said, tossing his head in the direction of the harbour.

Duo glanced up at Heero apologetically, aware that Heero would have liked a few moments to rest as well. He deliberated a moment and then reached for his staff, which he used to help himself stand. “I’ll accompany you,” he said by way of explanation. He added, mostly for Trowa’s benefit, “You know, so he doesn’t try anything funny… like escaping.”

Heero knew Duo was more than aware that he had absolutely no intentions of trying to get away, but he appreciated the gesture nonetheless. He was pretty sure Trowa wouldn’t care what Duo did so long as the same end was met, and true enough, the blood elf waved off Duo’s request as if it were the most inconsequential thing in the world to him.

“Well then, shall we?” Duo said jovially, nodding his head in the direction of Menethil Harbour. “If we set out now, we could be back by nightfall,” he said, ambling casually down the road as if they were off on a Sunday stroll. His odd bounces in attitude were extremely befuddling.

Heero trotted after him and soon fell in step with the undead warlock. He wasn’t sure if he was comfortable enough to strike up a conversation with Duo just yet, but he definitely felt more at ease around him than he did around Trowa. It surprised him that Duo was the one to engage him first: “You know, I think Trowa’s starting to appreciate you more,” he commented idly after about fifteen minutes of silence.

Heero could only stare at Duo incredulously from the corners of his eyes.

Duo laughed, though it sounded more like a sinister cackle. “I think he just views you as a rival for his princely wiles,” Duo jibbed, his grin warping the torn flesh in his face grotesquely. “The fact that he stopped to consider we need supplies for the both of you is telling enough,” he elaborated. “He would have conveniently forgotten to make sure there was enough for you to eat if he really didn’t like you that much.”

Heero considered this and supposed it made sense. Besides, Duo knew Trowa better than he did and would thusly know better. “I suppose it’s silly to expect much more from the Horde,” he muttered to no one in particular.

Duo’s hand tightened around his staff as his feet ground to a halt. He was now glaring at Heero with the same fire that had glowed in his eyes that first night they’d encountered each other. The potency of such an expression was a sharp reminder that Duo was not one to be trifled with despite his usually easygoing attitude. “It is Allies like you that ensure there will never be peace in Azeroth,” Duo spat acidicly. “Do you forget that I – and even Trowa, no less – once stood proudly with the Alliance? We have no love for your kind anymore because you show none for us.”

Heero frowned, but he stood his ground firmly enough. “And you Forsaken would have as all plagued and eradicated from this earth,” he argued back. His voice did not waver from its usual, placid tone, even as he accused, “Or do you assume that every human is as morally corrupt as the Scarlet Crusade?”

Duo’s face twisted into something that bordered between enraged and defeated. He gripped his staff with both hands as if he was trying to steady himself and then abruptly marched off, his ratty braid swinging behind his back like the tail of an unhappy dog. It was clear Heero had brushed some kind of nerve with his comment, and it left no doubt in his mind that Duo’s past was somehow entwined with the Crusade. As he started to cautiously follow Duo, he was left with the bewildering question as to why he even cared.

“Slow yourself!” Heero called after Duo, practically jogging to keep up. He had to admit that he was a little miffed at Duo’s sudden distaste, but he supposed he had earned the reaction. “Duo, forgive me.”

The words were simple, but they had the staying power of a god. Duo stopped once more and turned around, his expression completely unreadable. “Why should I?” he demanded to know, though his voice remained frighteningly calm. The way he was fingering the top of his staff as if he were trying to draw attention to its power was unnerving.

“Because….” That was as far as Heero got before he trailed off, realizing he really didn’t have a good answer to the question. In lieu of anything else, he simply shrugged.

Duo seemed unmoved by the honesty of Heero’s plea, though. The corners of his mouth dropped as he said tightly, “You have made it clear that you dislike me and that you fear Trowa. Perhaps his treatment of you is the proper approach after all.” He wrinkled his nose and turned on his heel once more: “I don’t know,” he said; “I suppose I expected something else out of you, Heero Yuy, Champion of Stormwind.” And with that, he continued on towards the harbour, clutching his staff in a way that suggested he planned to wield its magic very soon.

Heero wasn’t sure which bothered him more: the fact that Duo seemed very likely to set Menethil Harbour aflame, or that he had just lost the approval he never knew he even had with the warlock. Once again, he found himself hurrying to keep up with Duo, though he still wasn’t sure what the right words would be. Sans Quatre, he was bad enough trying to keep up social relations with his own people, and it had surprised him that he seemed to be getting along better with Duo and Trowa than he had with another human in a very long time. It was startling clear to him now that such an impression had very little to do with anything he had put into their relations, though.

Soon, they were lingering behind a stand of trees near the bridge that led into the harbour town. Heero wasn’t sure what Duo’s plan was until he was given a push out into the open. “You still have that pack I gave you,” Duo hissed, his annoyance about their earlier exchange still painfully apparent. “Use a couple coins and buy whatever it is you might want. They won’t hurt a _human_ like you for walking their streets.”

Heero chewed the inside of his cheek and warily made his way towards Menethil. He knew there had to be a catch in those orders, for it was far too simple a command. He hoped that Duo wasn’t planning to raze the town as soon as he was inside, though the reality of that prospect was a fairly nerve-wracking thing. He paused to wonder what it was that Duo was trying to test him with, all the while wishing he understood Duo’s motivations so he could make a better assessment.

As Heero walked through the town, he found it was strange being amongst men once more. Hardly anyone even spared him a glance, and when they did, it was to try and draw him to their shops and stalls along the docks. He wondered if they could tell who he was or where he’d been – if they would throw him into the sea for commiserating with the Horde. He stopped at a fish vendor, perusing his catch almost blindly as he pondered the finer points of that particular train of thought. It was almost uncanny how depressed he felt about the whole thing.

Later, Heero was still wandering through the town, though he had since purchased some smoked venison and stolen some rather expensive cheese. He had also bought a few skins of sweet goat milk, some sweet bread and dried fish, though he had also pick pocketed a sailor in order to afford it all. He wasn’t sure what had driven him to acquire so many of the provisions by underhanded means. He wanted to believe that it was just an exercise to keep his skills sharp, but deep down, he knew it had more to do with impressing his companions. He was loath to admit it, but he did find a kind of pride in winning Trowa’s respect, and a comfort in Duo’s friendship. He thought he might take the time to even bring back some other bauble for Duo as a truce of sorts: the warlock was probably getting very impatient waiting for him. Unfortunately for Heero, it was another decent idea that wasn’t entirely well thought out, and didn’t take long for him to realize that he had no clue what sort of trinket Duo might like, the idea of which only served to frustrate him more. He tried to remember the sorts of things he’d given as gifts to people he’d cared about in the past, but it was an unfruitful venture. He ended up leaving town in a most foul mood indeed.

Walking across the bridge found Heero witness to something else that made his blood boil. Near the pathway, about a stone’s throw away from where he had left Duo earlier, was a small group of Menethil sailors, all of whom were sneering and jeering loudly. Approaching the cluster of boorish men, Heero was quick to realize that they were surrounding Duo and taking advantage of their ranks to toy with him. The very concept of this drove Heero out of his mind, thinking there was no honour in men who only had courage in numbers and drink.

“Oh, little rotted corpse wants his _pet_ back!” Heero heard one of them croon mean-spiritedly as he approached. He soon realized that the sailor in question was holding Asahi between his thumb and forefinger, dangerously close to squashing the poor insect between them.

“I swear to you, I will feast on your corpse if you hurt him,” Duo growled, though he actually sounded more petulant than menacing. Heero’s question as to why Duo hadn’t just killed them already was quickly answered when he realized that the warlock was tangled up in a fishing net and that one of the sailors had confiscated his staff and wand.

“No’ from th’bottom of yon sea, ye won’t!” laughed another one, his voice slurred with alcohol. The others joined in his amusement, and a third sailor added, “Or from the bottom of the Scarlet clink!”

More laughter filled the air, but Heero barely heard any of it. Blood was pounding in his ears, deafening him to everything but the chilling whisper of something unseen. _‘Don’t let them abuse your companion so,’_ it hissed. _‘Protect him; I can help you….’_ Heero felt a familiar pressure within his chest, so much like the time he had thought those orcs were going to execute him at Tarren Mill, and he found himself unconsciously nodding his head in agreement to the offer. A surge of power suddenly coursed through his body, but it filled him with a strange kind of comfort as his consciousness drained away and his vision stung red.

Leaping forward and brandishing a set of demonic talons, Heero rushed towards the gaggle of sailors, howling like a rabid dog. His body was still human, but there was definitely something very animalistic about his demeanor that alerted the sailors to the fact that he was not an ally. His ears had elongated and there were strange markings streaking his face and body. His mouth was filled with sharp fangs that made his lips bleed when he tried to close it, but it was more than that: he loped and fought like a beast, and spoke only in grunts and roars.

He managed to snatch one of the sailors as he tried to get away, digging his claws into his back and wrenching him back onto the ground. With mindless rage, he pierced the sailor’s throat with his talons, pinning him to the earth, pummeling his face with his other hand until the sailor went limp beneath him. But killing one was hardly enough to satisfy the demonic lust welling up inside of Heero, and it wasn’t long before he’d launched himself at another one, dragging him down and murdering him in a similar fashion.

Duo, still caught up in the fishing net, could only sit and look on. Though the carnage was actually something that pleased him, the fact that the demon seemed to have just that little bit more control over Heero was unsettling. If the demon took control of Heero every time Heero was blind with rage, it would only be a matter of time before there was nothing left of the rogue in that human shell. He only hoped he would be able to calm Heero once the danger had passed, and, with that thought in mind, quickly set to work at trying to free himself from the net. No longer in danger, Asahi did his best to help as much as an insect could.

By the time Duo had managed to wrest himself free, all the sailors were dead. Heero sat in the middle of a pile of bodies, bathed in blood. His chest heaved as he stared at nothing, almost as if there wasn’t anything for him if he couldn’t continue killing. Cautiously, Duo approached the scene, unobtrusively prying his staff and wand from the stiff fingers of one of the bodies. Clearly, the sailors picking on Duo had been what had set Heero off, but Duo still wasn’t sure if this uncontrolled Heero would still be able to discern that if he got too near. He wondered what the best approach would be, knowing he would have to think of something quickly lest the people from the harbour notice something was terribly amiss.

Deciding to throw caution to the wind, Duo called out to Heero by name, but the word didn’t register with the possessed rogue at all. He tried again, this time taking a few steps towards Heero in hopes that he wouldn’t catch him off guard. This only half worked, for as he got near, Heero yelped and threw himself at Duo, tackling him to the ground. Duo quickly threw up his skeletal arm as a defense, which Heero chomped down on viciously. His dead body felt nothing, so it didn’t really bother him much. “Seems like our little prince is hungry,” Duo chuckled as Heero continued to chew at the bones. He patted the top of Heero’s head, hoping that Heero would ease back to normalcy if he felt safe and comfortable, though he couldn’t help but be concerned that the demonic rage had been so quick to overtake him. The naturalistic way it seemed to settle upon him wasn’t very comforting either.

Thankfully, Heero seemed to come around much sooner than he had the last time, and without the uncanny sleeping spell to hinder him. If getting as far from Menethil and the dead sailors wasn’t a top priority, Duo might have stopped to become even more disquieted about yet another indicator that the demon was making itself much more at home in Heero’s consciousness. However, it took them a bit longer than Duo would have liked to get going, for as soon as Heero was himself again, the first thing he noticed was that he was completely drenched in blood. His breath started to hitch as his fingers dug into the nearest possible thing, which happened to be Duo. “Wh-What is this?” he stammered, soon realizing that they were surrounded by a sea of mutilated bodies.

Duo pushed Heero off his lap rather unceremoniously and got to his feet abruptly. Making a show of dusting off his robes so he wouldn’t have to look Heero in the eye, he said casually, “You set the sigil off again, and the demon came out for a romp.”

Heero’s eyes widened in horror when it dawned upon him what he had done. Seeming a little unsure as to how he ought to proceed, he glanced back at the bridge to the harbour, then at the path that led back to Trowa. His voice barely a whisper, he wondered, “How could I do such a thing?”

Duo fought to keep himself as placid as he could. “That demon feeds on your emotions and uses them against you,” he said succinctly. “Clearly, you were… unsettled by whatever those men were doing.” He neatly avoided making it known that he had been captive and at the mercy of a lot of drunkards as he bent to pick up the provisions pack, which Heero had discarded when the demon had overtaken him.

Heero frowned at Duo’s back as he sauntered off in the direction that led back to Trowa and Heavypaw. He had trained his whole life to keep things such as feelings as suppressed as possible, and it bothered him that something had irritated him enough to allow such a thing to happen. He found it to be a sure sign of weakness and took to mentally berating himself as he followed Duo down the road. He would not let himself be ruled by the twittering whims of his emotions: all that ever left anybody was a wake of heartache and destruction, and had ruined greater men than he on the battlefield.

There was no honour in feeling.

-

TBC!!


	10. Ripples

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Title: ** _ **The Forsaken** _

**Title: ** _ **The Forsaken** _

**Author: **Link Worshiper

**Pairings:** 1=2, maybe some others if I feel like it

**Rating: **PG-13

**Stuff:** Fantasy AU, fluff, sap, language, adventure, WoW nerdiness

**Disclaimer:** I own Gundam Wing action figures? Warcraft and its lore belongs to Blizzard Entertainment. Both things are being played with out of fangirl love.

Thanks to danse and Natea for the once over. Despite the fact this is part of Natea’s birthday present, I still needed her to fill me in on the Alliance history they don’t teach us on Horde, so thanks for that also =P

_Part X_

_Ripples_

Duo knew that Trowa was probably wondering where they were, but he also thought it would be prudent to stop and make sure that neither of them wore any telltale signs of the demonic slaughter that had overtaken Heero near the harbour. They had long since evacuated the scene of the fight, but they were still a good twenty minute pace from where Trowa was waiting. Stopping at one of the more secluded pools of the many that covered the wetlands, Duo sat down at its edge and commanded Heero to start washing.

Still trying hard to act as reserved as possible around Duo, Heero started pulling off his gloves and boots. All of his outerwear was so bloodstained, it looked as if he had cured the leather with a dark red dye. Even his face looked as if it had been painted, and his long bangs were stiff with crusted blood. He grimaced as each piece of clothing was dropped into an unceremonious pile at his side. Then, stripped down to only a linen shirt and underwear, he slid into the shallow pool, wading in to his knees and then sitting down to scrub his skin clean. As he bent over the rippling water to splash his face, he paused, momentarily caught off guard by how alien his features looked covered in so much gore. It reminded him how unlike a hero he was. “This is not life,” he murmured.

“What’s wrong?” came Duo’s voice from behind. He sounded pleasant – or as pleasant as a Forsaken could – and it served only to confuse Heero as to what his mood was.

“Nothing,” Heero intoned flatly, not bothering to turn around. He dunked his head into the pool and let the blood clout the water around his face. He resurfaced to the sound of Duo’s raspy guffaws.

“Your guilt amuses me,” Duo finally managed to say between laughs. He was leaning over the side of the pool, trying to rinse the blood from his huge sleeves while avoiding as much water as possible. Asahi bounced next to him, a tiny silk bandage wrapped almost comically around his middle.

At this, Heero whirled around, the water churning around his legs as he did so. “You would make sport of someone who feels guilt at the hands of slaughter?” he demanded, shaking.

“No,” Duo drawled, flicking his still dirty sleeves. “But I _would_ treat one as such who felt guilt over something he could not help. To me, that is wasted effort.”

Heero’s lips tightened, but he did not argue. Duo had a fair enough point, he supposed, but it didn’t do to make him feel much better. Besides, the more he thought about it, the more it _did_ seem like he was the one to blame: if he hadn’t obeyed King Milliardo’s command, for instance….

Meanwhile, Duo was still watching Heero from the bank, no longer interested in his sleeves after deeming the purple fabric dark enough to mask the blood. Instead, he leaned his chin into one hand and observed wistfully, “You’re the sort who never changes, it would seem.”

Heero, who had barely gone back to washing himself, found himself turning to glare at Duo once more. “What does that mean?” he wanted to know.

“You – your attitude – I can see it all over your face,” Duo clarified, though he still somehow managed to be vague. “You try not to feel remorse for anything, but when you do, it eats away at your soul, doesn’t it.” The comment wasn’t even a question, but a very confident statement of fact. “Or perhaps you have conditioned yourself to follow orders so perfectly and so thoughtlessly, you don’t even see the repercussions of your actions until—“

“Enough!” Heero interrupted loudly, not fond of where Duo was heading with his assessment. Smacking the water impatiently, he grimaced, “You may have heard of me, but far be it to know who I am and what my life is like. Presume what you want, but dare not think that you understand a _thing_ about me, Duo Blackscythe.”

Much to Heero’s annoyance, all Duo did was allow his lips to rise up into a lazy smile, which actually made Heero more uncomfortable than even the most wicked expression he had yet seen on Duo’s face. It seemed to Heero like Duo was not the sort to say what he meant, though he certainly meant what he said. It made him wonder, not for the first time, just who Duo was, really.

Gathering his fill of amusement from Heero’s very visible agitation, Duo interrupted Heero’s thoughts, saying, “Mm, you tell me so much without even trying. It must be hard wearing your heart on your sleeve without anyone ever noticing it’s there.” He was eying Heero carefully, eager for even the tiniest of reactions, but was disappointed to find that Heero had stifled his expression with almost painful vigor. Masking his own dissatisfaction, Duo turned away from Heero and glared sharply at the pile of bloody leathers Heero had left by the pool, all the while wondering if Heero’s stiltedness had more to do with faction or with him, personally. “Hurry it up, then,” he barked, his frustration creeping into his voice. “We haven’t got all day, and Trowa will be wondering if we’ve drowned in the harbour by now.”

Heero took a moment to simply stare at Duo, once again put off guard by this sudden flip in attitude. He probably would have remained that way for a bit longer if Duo hadn’t abruptly decided to kick all his bloody clothing into the pond, jarring Heero from his stupor. Snapping back to attention, Heero growled, “You’re the one who insisted we stop, so don’t place the blame on me for our delay.”

“Tch, you humans are so preoccupied with blame,” Duo snorted, crossing his arms presumptuously. “In death, you would find that such things matter hardly at all.”

“Then it is a shame not all of us can be like you,” Heero deadpanned, stomping through the water to fish his leathers out before they became damaged. His growing agitation was plain with the way he threw each article back onto the bank with astounding vigor.

The comment struck a nerve with Duo, and all of his usually controlled demeanor faded away. His lips curling back around his jagged teeth, he snapped, “Alright, then why don’t you just drag as many humans as you can up to Northrend and let yourselves fall victim to the Scourge? Then you can see how _wonderful_ undeath tastes in the service of Treize.” He spat unceremoniously at Heero’s pile of wet clothing, which Heero had just pulled out of the water. “Or would you rather me just take you back to Undercity, where my colleagues in the Royal Apothecary Society can experiment on you until your intestines fall out of your ears.”

This time, there was no question as to whether or not Duo was joking, which flustered Heero to no end. Taken aback, he stammered, “Duo, I-I’m sorry… I….”

“Forget it!” Duo went on, not even hearing Heero’s attempted apology. “You have no idea what it’s like to wake up one day and realize that you’re dead. It’s almost worse being Forsaken than even being one of the Scourge, because at least then, you have no idea what’s happened to you. At least you have no idea who you’re killing, who you’re… you’re….” Duo had started to quiver, though whether it was because of rage or distress was hard to tell.

It was then that a few key pieces fell into place for Heero. With a hum of realization, he asked softly, “Duo, who did you lose to the Scourge?”

The words crashed against the backs of Duo’s teeth as he suddenly clamped his mouth shut in surprise, a finger still lifted like he meant to deliver a particularly menacing argument. His empty, glowing eye sockets flickered as he slowly lowered his hand, staring straight through Heero all the while. “Trowa mentioned it briefly,” Duo mumbled so quietly, Heero had to strain to hear. “It was my brother….”

Heero dared not move, even as water dripped from the tips of his bangs and ran uncomfortably down his face. Once again, that urge to know more about Duo – to understand him – rose up within him, but this time, he did nothing to try and quell it. He even held his breath.

But Duo said no more on the subject, quick to direct the conversation in a way that would keep Heero’s prying curiosity far from his personal history. Heero was starting to notice that Duo’s jumps in tone and attitude seemed to be coupled with subject matters the undead warlock would rather avoid.

“And what about you?” Duo said glibly, jabbing a bony finger at Heero. “You who is so tightly wound? You must have a reason for being that way. Perhaps something you’d rather hide?” Again, Duo’s face was warped with the shape of that damned smile of his, like he knew far more than he was letting on, but this time, Heero suspected it was a ruse to divert the true nature of his feelings.

A breeze rippled across the pool, causing Heero to shiver as he stared up at the overcast sky, frowning. Even if he had wanted to supply Duo with an answer, he wasn’t sure what he would have said. Duo had an uncanny knack for getting under his skin with just the right comment, and a discomforting nausea settled in his stomach at the realization that Duo seemed to understand him well enough to do so. It reminded him of when he had been younger and living in Dalaran: those who had managed to push their way into his circle of trust had made him feel similarly with their observations of his character, and even worse still, when a good number of them faded into mere memories. If he was worried about the prospect of Duo leaving him alone as so many of the people in his past had, then Heero could safely say that stranger things had happened.

However, he said nothing of these musings as he continued to methodically scrub the blood out of his clothing. He had learned a long time ago that silence was often the safest route, even if it hurt to swallow.

Meanwhile, as that same breeze tossed through Duo’s long, ratty hair, a similar nostalgia had settled upon the Forsaken’s shoulders. He forced himself to look away from Heero, whose very existence reminded him so much of what it had been like to be alive, cursing the emptiness that undeath had left him. Looking around at the beautiful life he could only stand on the outside of, he muttered under his breath, “You have no idea how lucky you are to simply be alive.”

Heero pointedly ignored him, dunking his leather jerkin through the reflection of his face in the water.

Trowa was dosing by the dying embers of a fire and the swishing tail of the ever-watchful Heavypaw when Heero and Duo returned. Heero still looked a bit messy, and his hair was damp, but he was a sight less noticeable than he’d been when he’d been covered in blood. Both he and Duo were a bit on the morose side since their discussion by the pond, each lost in his own thoughts about the meaning of the words they’d exchanged, and it didn’t take long for Trowa to take notice.

“What now?” he bemoaned, getting to his feet so he could stamp out the remnants of the fire with the heel of his boot. “Did you have a lovers quarrel or something?” His voice was barbed with sarcasm.

“Very funny,” Duo sneered, though his eyes had slid in Heero’s direction surreptitiously. Without further ado, he tossed the bag of provisions at Trowa, which landed at his feet with an unceremonious thud. “Well, let’s keep going then,” he said impatiently as Trowa stooped to inspect what they had obtained at the harbour.

Trowa was still rummaging through the pack as they began to walk again. “Excellent taste,” he commented as he pulled a flagon of wine out of the bag so he could inspect the label better. He glanced over at Heero, who was staring at the ground, and gave him a nod of approval when he finally managed to catch his eye.

With Duo leading the way, followed by Heero and then Trowa and Heavypaw, they resumed their course south, towards the enormous loch that was regulated by a stone wrought dam so large, it knew no parallel anywhere else in Azeroth. They would have to travel around the loch, treading carefully because the land was still Alliance controlled until they reached the contested territory beyond it. The mood was still a bit awkward, and they continued in a silence that was interrupted only by their footfalls and the twitter of the woodlands around them.

After traveling like this for a bit, the monotony was broken up for Trowa by a low chime that seemed to be coming from his hip pouch. Slowing his pace only slightly, Trowa peeled back the flap to investigate the sound, unsurprised to find Heero’s owl charm glowing faintly in the depths of the bag. He schooled his reaction, silently lamenting what a horrible time Quatre had chosen to try and contact him, only to then worry whether or not the priest had somehow known to choose this moment intentionally. He snapped the pouch’s flap closed, resolutely boring his stare into the back of Heero’s head as if ignoring the charm would make it stop. It actually seemed to work for a bit, until Heero, who seemed to have just noticed the chime, started frantically digging through his own hip pouch in search of the charm he hadn’t realized he’d lost.

Taking note of the commotion behind him, Duo looked back over his shoulder with furrowed eyebrows, wondering what was wrong.

“My… this… this trinket that my friend….” Heero stammered distractedly, now patting down his entire length as if he might have squirreled it away somewhere else on his person and then forgotten. “I thought I heard its magic,” he explained vaguely, distracted by his frantic search. Trowa unconsciously gripped the belt loop his own side pouch hung from.

Duo frowned, crossing his arms and tossing his head with exasperation. “Well, no need to lose your marbles over it,” he said. “You’re giving me stress just watching you like that.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Heero fretted, his hands thrust back into his side pouch for a second rummage through. “It was a gift from my oldest – from my _only_ – friend! I can’t have lost it…. I’ll be all….” He trailed off, distracted by his fruitless search. His face contorted with frustration, and had he not been the well-schooled individual he was, he might have let out a roar so mighty, it would have shook the very boughs of the trees that stood around them.

Duo’s face melted into a bland expression that was meant to disguise the disheartened sensation welling up inside him. It surprised him that a feeling such as empathy was something he could still experience in his current, eternally embittered state, but it was not unwelcome. It seemed almost ridiculous now that he thought about it, but he had kind of begun to feel like he might be called a friend of Heero’s, and to hear otherwise was a bit of an unexpected blow.

It was then that Duo shot a glance at Trowa, who seemed suspiciously unenthused, and noticed the way the elf was gripping his side pouch. It didn’t take long for Duo to make the right deduction before he was stomping by Heero and toward Trowa. One hand shooting out to snatch Trowa’s wrist and jerk it away, Duo reached for Trowa’s hip pouch with his skeletal fingers and popped it open. As Trowa tried in vain to wrest himself from Duo’s surprisingly tight hold, Duo dug into the pouch, soon unearthing the missing owl charm, the glow of which pulsated tellingly between his fingers as it continued to magically chime. “Is _this_ what you were looking for, Heero?” Duo asked, fixing a very unfriendly glare onto the side of Trowa’s face.

Heero’s eyes widened, both surprised that Trowa had stolen the charm and angry that he had allowed it to happen. It was only his immense relief that it wasn’t gone forever that kept him from stepping in to teach the blood elf prince a lesson or two with his fists.

Angrily, Trowa jerked himself free of Duo’s grip, massaging his wrist with his other hand as he glowered at the warlock. “And it’s a good job I did, too, thanks,” he said sharply. “That little toy opens a communication portal. It would lead the Alliance right to us!”

Heero took that moment to interject, no longer willing to let Trowa speak ill of those he did not even know. “You say it as if I am plotting to deceive you,” he shot back, his steady voice hardly subduing his anger even the slightest bit. “Do you not remember that Duo and I agreed on this arrangement? Why would you assume that the Alliance would care enough to disband something that is so mutually beneficial?”

The fighting words struck a definite chord with Trowa, who argued back, “Because the Alliance is completely preoccupied with delivering retribution on every party it thinks has wronged it in the past, whether it is justified, sensible or not, that’s why!”

“And _you_ assume the entire Alliance shares the same views as King Milliardo,” Heero snapped, almost as shocked by his own words as Trowa seemed to be. Though he had always questioned some of his king’s more questionable tactics and motives, he had never teetered on such a treasonous edge before. It startled him further to realize that voicing such things was frighteningly liberating.

Standing on the outside of the debate, still holding the charm, Duo decided to interject. Holding the glowing owl up, he said, “And what are we to do with this?”

Heero started to reach for it, but Trowa proved to be faster. Snatching it back from Duo, he announced flatly, “It is probably that priest consort of Relena Proudmoore’s. He will be expecting to see me.” Without further ado, he angled himself a bit from the other two and rubbed the charm, calling the communication portal into the air before him.

Quatre was missing when the magic took its final shape, though he was quick to wander back into view once he realized that his call had finally been answered. “Good day to you, fair prince,” he said with a slight nod of his head. “I was starting to worry something had befallen you without my aid.”

Arching his eyebrows, Trowa replied curtly, “You give yourself too much credit, priest. I am doing rather well, thank you.”

Their banter might have continued in that fashion for a time if Heero hadn’t suddenly interrupted. Barging right up to the communication portal, he shoved Trowa aside to greet Quatre with a bold stare and a sharp nod of his head. “I am sorry I haven’t spoken to you in a while, friend,” he said by means of apology.

Quatre seemed surprised to be suddenly met with Heero’s face, but he quickly warmed at the sight of his childhood companion. “It is good to see you are well, Heero,” he said with a smile. His eyes darted in the direction Heero had pushed Trowa, his lips parted like he was going to add something else, though he seemed to think better of it before the words came out.

Heero took the moment to explain the situation to Quatre, uncaring that Trowa was standing to the side with a dark glower in his eyes. “Before you worry over the company I have chosen to keep, know that I am with them of my own will,” he said. “I have made an arrangement with the third of our party, a warlock who has vowed to help me… dispose of the sigil Milliardo bade me to find.”

“But why? And at what cost?” Quatre asked before he had the chance to quell the curiosity. His eyes swung around, searching the area where Heero stood until he caught sight of Duo, who was still lingering in the background with his arms crossed. If Quatre was concerned by the fact that Duo was Forsaken, he did a good job of keeping it quiet, thoughtfully chewing his lip instead.

“The Epyon sigil is evil,” Heero explained simply. “Milliardo cannot have it, even if he thinks it will ensure Alliance dominance over Azeroth.”

“No, it wouldn’t do to upset this delicate balance of peace we have bred,” Quatre mused, stroking his chin. Behind Heero, Duo piqued, impressed by such an observation from someone he hadn’t expected much of.

From Heero’s other side, Trowa cleared his throat loudly, as if to remind the others that he was the reason they were speaking to Quatre at all. He said, “Well, what is it you wanted of me, Quatre Winner?”

Quatre turned his attention back to the blood elf prince, schooling his features once more as he answered. “I thought I might check on you to find out when you might need some more magic to feed on,” he said with a shrug. “But since you seem to be just fine as you are, I shall—”

“Oh no, you won’t escape our deal so easily,” Trowa cut him off. “Do not think I am completely oblivious to your tactic of trying to scout out our location every time we speak,” he said candidly. “If you wish for us to keep with this bargain we have made with your rogue friend, you will come to me with a new charm in three days time, and not a moment before or a moment late. Understood?”

Much to Trowa’s chagrin, Quatre merely laughed and repeated, “Understood.” Then, with almost uncharacteristic abruptness, he snapped and ended their communication, leaving Trowa, Heero and Duo alone in the wetlands once more.

“Well, that was interesting,” Duo commented to break the awkward silence that had befallen the trio.

Heero was too busy glaring at Trowa to merit Duo with much of a response. “You undermined the truce we had come to for this outing,” Heero accused flatly, his hands balled up in tight fists at his side. “You are too used to your station, prince.”

“You would do to know your place, _human_,” Trowa retorted, clenching the owl charm tightly.

The way Trowa was eying Duo, it would have seemed that he expected the warlock to back him up. Unfortunately, Duo had his own agenda to see to, which didn’t offer Trowa the support he wanted. “I thought I told you that your jurisdiction means nothing out here, far from your kingdom,” Duo said ambiguously. “Respecting you as a prince has nothing to do with obeying your every whim.”

Trowa was clearly displeased by this answer, but chose to bottle his annoyance. He made a show of cramming the owl trinket back into his hip pouch, and then whistled for Heavypaw, who padded alongside his master as he stomped to the front of their procession and took up the role of leading the way. Despite such decisive movements, the course way Trowa was muttering under his breath certainly took away from his usually regal stature quite a bit.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Duo asked, catching an earful of some of Trowa’s more colourful complaints. “I’m right behind you, you know; I can hear everything you say.”

Whirling around, Trowa iterated with chopped words, “I _said,_ it would seem to me that you actually give the human _preference_ over me. Me, who is supposed to be your best friend!” From the way he spoke, it almost sounded like he was more offended by this prospect than the suggestion that Duo was undermining his royal authority.

“Maybe I _do_,” Duo retorted vaguely, though there was a bit of fight to his tone. “I can do as I please.”

“I don’t see what he ever did for you to make it so,” Trowa groused as he turned around and picked up the pace again. His long, quick strides forced the rest of them to hustle just to keep up.

“And I don’t see what he ever did to _you_ to create such disdain,” Duo grumbled to himself, half hoping Trowa would hear. “You make judgments on him before you even know him!”

“I never said I don’t like him,” Trowa snapped over his shoulder as if Heero wasn’t just a couple yards behind him. “It just bothers me that you are so quick to trust him.”

Duo’s eyes narrowed as he bluntly replied, “Like you and that priest?”

Trowa’s nostrils flared as he pursed his lips and faced forward again, petulantly stalking onwards without so much as a backwards comment for Duo, who merely stared smugly at Trowa’s back as he followed.

Bringing up the rear and safely out of their eyesight, Heero couldn’t help but smile.


	11. The Stonewrought Dam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Title: ** _ **The Forsaken** _

**Title: ** _ **The Forsaken** _

**Author: **Link Worshiper

**Pairings:** 1=2, maybe some others if I feel like it

**Rating: **PG-13

**Stuff:** Fantasy AU, fluff, sap, language, adventure, WoW nerdiness

**Disclaimer:** I own Gundam Wing action figures? Warcraft and its lore belongs to Blizzard Entertainment. Both things are being played with out of fangirl love.

Thanks to danse and Natea for the once over. Despite the fact this is part of Natea’s birthday present, I still needed her to fill me in on the Alliance history they don’t teach us on Horde, so thanks for that also =P

\--

_Part XI_

_The Stonewrought Dam_

\--

By the time the trio reached the edge of the wetlands and the safety of its tree-lined pathways, twilight had given way to inky darkness. Heero was starting to feel the weight of the day’s march on his shoulders, but he knew there was no way that Trowa was going to sacrifice the cover of night for his benefit, so he settled for munching on a small loaf of bread instead as they lingered in the shadows, deliberating what to do next.

Beyond the trees stood the enormous dam that held the loch back, controlling the flow of the water from the lake above with a series of regulated waterfalls. It was another testament to dwarven ingenuity and a monument of times ages past. Just standing near it was enough to remind Heero how truly small he was, and, while Duo and Trowa continued to bicker about which way they should approach the Badlands, Heero was left to ponder, not for the first time since they’d started, whether or not this entire endevour would prove worthwhile. He was just one person, and not a king, or even a prince; how could he ever hope to stand in the way of an ambitious man like Milliardo Wrynn?

“We should come around the eastern bank,” Trowa was saying, practically shouting to be heard over the thundering waterfalls. “Then we can be sure to avoid Thelsamar and any Allies that might be lurking there.”

But Duo was shaking his head throughout Trowa’s suggestion, though. “It is but a small town, and it’s must faster to travel down the western bank,” he shouted back. “We are heading to Kargath, are we not?”

“I wouldn’t know!” snapped Trowa; “You’ve been extremely close-mouthed about what we are even doing down in these parts, aside from escorting your human pet back to Stormwind. I don’t see why we’re even walking at all!”

Duo chose not to even get into an argument with Trowa about whether or not the Undercity giant bat handler would have allowed more than one person to ride one of his precious mounts, especially if one of them was clearly not part of the Horde. Instead, he cut to the heart of it: “_Because_, if you’ve forgotten, I also told the human I’d help him get rid of his curse in exchange for one of Stormwind’s treasures,” he reminded Trowa tartly. “And to do that, the first thing I need is a blade forged of the strongest metal we can find, which, in these parts, would be thorium – and there’s loads of it just south of here.”

“I still don’t see why you’re so adamant to help him,” Trowa grumbled to himself, irately tugging at Heavypaw’s mane.

Duo blithely ignored the elf and turned to Heero, surprising him with a question about his opinion on the matter. Heero, who had only been half paying attention to what seemed like a typical argument between Trowa and Duo, was startled and unsure what to say.

“It boils down to efficiency or precaution,” Duo summed up, raising his voice even louder to reach Heero’s ears.

It didn’t take long for Heero to come up with an answer. “The western bank,” he said with a shrug, privately enjoying the irate look that crossed Trowa’s face as he spoke. “If our next destination is indeed that Horde outpost in the Badlands, then it is the natural decision. Besides,” he added, growing more confident as he continued, “there is nothing for _me_ to fear in Thelsamar.”

“Well, aren’t _you_ lucky,” Trowa groused, clearly not pleased that he was being challenged on both sides. “What a shame it is we all can’t be afforded the same luxury.”

Duo interjected before Trowa had a chance to get too much more out of hand. “So it’s settled, then,” he said, waving Trowa off like a miscreant fly. “We’ll climb up the dam and travel down the loch’s western bank.” Rubbing his palms together, he grinned a dastardly grin, eyes glimmering in the darkness. “Let’s get started then, shall we?”

Duo had barely whirled in the proper direction when Trowa voiced his opinion yet again, his voice far more firm than it had been before: “I still am not at ease with this,” he said staunchly, as if he were issuing a decree. “I still think that it would be more prudent to avoid any Alliance villages at all costs.”

Halfway through one of the small rivulets that fed into the wetlands, Duo splashed back around to face Trowa. “As we head towards the biggest Alliance village of all,” he sighed with an unmistakable twinge of sarcasm. He marched right back up to Trowa and straightened, trying to measure up to Trowa’s stature as best he could. “Look, you’re either with us or not,” he said, jabbing a skeletal finger into the center of Trowa’s chest, “and _we’re_ going down the western bank!”

Trowa’s mouth quivered wordlessly for a few moments before he finally retorted, “Fine! And _I_ will go down the eastern bank.” He let the meaning of what he said sink in on Duo, and a small grin tugged his lips as he added, “Don’t expect me to play cavalry when you get held up around Thelsamar.” With that, he turned his back on Duo and started to head in the opposite direction, Heavypaw at his heels.

Duo stood defiantly in place as he watched Trowa head towards the eastern side of the dam, his expression tight and unreadable, despite the show he’d been putting on earlier. “Smug bastard,” he muttered to himself.

Hearing him from his spot a few paces off, Heero volunteered a small sympathy. “If it makes you feel better,” he said, his tone frank as usual, “my friend, Quatre – that priest Trowa’s been talking to – has a particular way of putting such ‘smug bastards’ in their proper place.”

His expression tweaking a bit, Duo glanced over at Heero and asked with a suspicious nod, “What makes you so sure he could manage one like Trowa?”

At this, Heero couldn’t help but let a small chuckle escape his lips as he replied, “Well, he managed to cull me.”

The assurance was more than Duo could have asked for.

\--

So massive was the loch, it seemed as if the entire star-speckled sky fit within the confines of its banks as Trowa rounded the eastern edge. The surface of the water was perfectly still, despite the flow of the dam’s waterfalls that channeled immeasurable amounts of it to the basin below, and he felt a sense of peace in this newfound solitude. He hadn’t meant to argue with Duo before, and he trusted that Duo was smart enough to take care of himself, so he stopped concerning himself with it and instead took the moment to enjoy this brief reprieve from his companions. It wasn’t until he was on his own again that he realized how tense he had been for the last few days.

It satisfied him only briefly, however, for it didn’t take long for a spell of loneliness to set in. Duo and his impulsive scheme to help that damned human might have been ridiculous, even obnoxious at times, but that haphazard attitude was one of the things Trowa liked best about his friend. Even the human, hesitant as he was to admit it, had a few respectable qualities here and there. He thought about his initial intrigue when the whole situation had been presented to him, and he suddenly found himself remembering why he’d wanted to come along at all. Idly, he reached for Heavypaw and stroked his fur, murmuring, “At least you are always here for me, friend.” He sighed as Heavypaw let out a contented purr, wishing the lion could speak the languages of men.

The thought of conversation found Trowa’s hand wandering towards his hip pouch, where he kept Quatre’s owl charm. When he realized what he was doing, however, he quickly chomped down on his lower lip and quickly pinned his hand behind his back. It wouldn’t do to make the priest think he relied on him, especially after that comment Duo had made earlier.

Resolutely, he marched forward, a tight frown marking his features. Peacefulness was certainly a lonely affair.

\--

Quiet also fell on the western bank as Heero and Duo progressed on their own way. Unsure of what he should say, or if he even ought to say anything at all, Heero spent the time feeling anxious that Duo would mark it as yet another thing he found insufficient about him. Duo, on the other hand, was actually just reveling in the fact that they seemed to be enjoying what seemed to be a rather comfortable silence together. Even including Trowa, he hadn’t been able to feel that way around anybody in quite some time.

That sense of comfort was particularly telling by the fact that Duo was able to easily speak his mind when a whimsical thought passed through his mind. “Do you think we’re ahead of Trowa?” he wondered, peering into the distance as if he were searching for a sign of movement across the loch, despite the fact that it was impossible to see the other bank from where they stood. He let out a raspy sigh when he realized this.

Heero barely glanced at the water, too busy watching Duo for some kind of sign that might indicate where he was going with this particular train of thought. He wondered what it meant that he only saw Duo as he usually was, his corpse slightly hunched over as he leaned heavily on his staff, lackadaisical, and impossible to read. Considering the slightly guarded way the warlock still carried himself around Trowa, who was his old friend, the easygoing attitude made Heero suspicious that it was all some kind of ruse to lure him into a false sense of security.

“I mean, it _is_ longer, but after a couple hundred years of gallivanting through the woods, Trowa is a very fast runner,” Duo continued to muse, knitting his leathery brow. He let out a hoarse chuckle, adding, “The years certainly have been kinder to his body – and his face – than they have mine.”

“You look well enough for someone who’s dead,” Heero found himself saying before he had a chance to stop himself. Flustered, he swallowed when he noticed the comment had garnered Duo’s yellowed gaze. “Or certainly no better than you surely did when you were alive,” he tried to amend, though it didn’t do much to rescind what he’d said. Frustrated, he said rather crossly, “Not that it even matters. Why do you care if he’s ahead of us or not?”

“Because we’re _competing_,” Duo answered as if it were obvious, though he couldn’t stop the smirk teasing his torn lips.

“Is that what it is,” Heero muttered under his breath.

“It is,” Duo insisted with a note of finality, straightening as much as his misaligned spine would allow him to.

Heero grunted and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Well, if _I_ had a hundred years to live, I’m still not sure it would be enough time for me to ever quite understand you,” Heero retorted flatly, crossing his arms.

“At least you would be trying,” answered Duo, turning south with a swoosh of his violet robes, claiming the final word as his.

Heero trotted after the warlock, brooding over this last exchange and what to make of it. The silence that had settled between them earlier returned with Heero’s anxiety. He wasn’t sure what he wanted Duo to say or do in order to ease his uncertainty, a thought that once again left him concerned as to why it even mattered. He told himself it probably had to do with his newfound doubts regarding how necessary animosity between the Alliance and the Horde really was, but the excuse sounded poor to even his desperate conscience.

It was somewhere during that particular thread of thought that Heero heard a sharp snap behind him, like someone stepping on a twig. He jolted and whirled around, narrowing his eyes at the empty landscape before slowly turning back and berating himself for being so edgy. The second time he heard the same noise, his eyes darted every which way, certain that he couldn’t be imagining things.

It was then that he noticed a presence next to him, and he would have startled if the dwarf that had suddenly appeared beside him hadn’t reached up to give his belt a sturdy yank, a wordless signal to keep quiet. With another motion, he gestured for Heero to bend his ear closer as he whispered, “Ye be needin’ some ‘elp dispatchin’ that ghoul, there?” The dwarf’s eyes darted forward, settling on Duo’s back.

Heero blinked in surprise at the dwarf, unsure of how to respond. It wasn’t until he realized that the pint-sized man was wearing a tabard decorated in Alliance blue and gold that he made the connection that he was a Thelsamar guardsman and that they had accidentally wandered closer to the town’s borders than they’d intended to. Then it dawned upon him that the soldier had probably made the obvious assumption that he was following Duo not because they were traveling companions, but because he was trying to ambush him from behind. Hastily, he whispered back, “It’s not what it looks like.”

The dwarf furrowed his thick, red eyebrows, frowning. “And wot’s _tha’_ mean, rogue?”

“It means what I said,” Heero hissed. He glanced up at Duo, who was still a good fifty paces ahead, and prayed that he hadn’t taken notice of the commotion behind him.

Though the expression on the dwarf’s face was mostly hidden behind his bushy beard, it was clear that he was suspicious of the answer. He glanced at Duo as well, and then back at Heero. Then he put a pair of stubby fingers into his mouth and whistled loudly, alerting not only Duo, but a small brigade of dwarven gunners, who had been hiding amid the rocks. “I’ll ask ye again,” said the dwarf beside Heero, his voice much more deadly-sounding now, “wot’s the meanin’ o’all this?”

“Don’t say a word, Heero,” Duo ordered, reaching into his robes to fetch his wand as he stalked back towards the rogue. He had barely pulled it from the depths of his sleeve, when a shot rang out, snapping the wand from Duo’s fingers with a lead bullet that only narrowly missed Duo’s hand. It smoked menacingly in the grass just behind the warlock, who was glaring into the darkness and cursing the gunner’s marksmanship.

“Has he takin’ ye prisoner, boy?” the dwarf exclaimed, his fists already clenching in predisposed anger. He grabbed Heero’s belt again, shaking one of those fists at Duo as he cried, “Well, ye won’t be givin’ any sort o’ commands to one o’ mine anymore, ye blighted abomination!”

Now very annoyed, Heero gave the dwarf a push, disengaging him from his person. “I told you it wasn’t what you thought,” he snapped, very much at the edge of his patience. “We’re just passing through, so if you’ll let us go about our business peacefully, we’ll be on our way.”

But the dwarf was staring at Heero with wide eyes and a slack jaw. “Dinnae tell me that ye be _allies_ with tha’… tha’ _thing_!” he gaped, extending a quivering finger towards Duo.

“It is of no consequence to you what the nature of our relationship is,” answered Heero, unimpressed by this meaningless row with the dwarf.

“Nay, I be thinkin’ ‘tis,” said the dwarf, crossing his arms resolutely, glaring up at Heero from beneath his thick eyebrows. “Because if ye be consortin’ with th’ ‘Orde, laddie, I’ll have to assume ye to be some kind of spy.” His voice became grim as he added, “An’ we dun take well t’spies in these ‘ere parts.”

Standing his ground, Heero let out a defiant grunt of acknowledgement and nothing more for the time being. Inwardly, however, his mind was frantically clicking through all sorts of hastily concocted plans in an effort to find one that would effectively free them from this mess. He felt a bit muddled by the task, frustrated that years of training seemed to have been so easily replaced by the moralistic battle he’d been engaged in as of late. He glanced at Duo, hoping that he would find something in the warlock’s face that might give him some sort of inspiration, but was only further disappointed.

“Laddie….” The dwarf’s tone was the cautionary sort.

Heero then turned his focus back on the fiery-haired dwarf, trying hard to ignore the fact that there were no less than six other dwarves with muskets all trained on either him or Duo. His lips parted to speak, at first without any sound, until the necessity of the situation left him fibbing with a sincerity even the most well practiced liars could only dream about.

“Listen,” Heero said flatly, dropping to one knee and speaking in a harsh whisper. His eyes darted back and forth, as if he was going to tell the dwarf something very secret. “If you want to know the whole of it, then I suppose I have no choice.” His dark blue irises flicked up at Duo, who was watching the situation unfold with a very cool frown adorning his mangled lips, and then continued, unhindered: “We are spies, yes, but of the Scarlet Crusade. The warlock has been… bought… so that we might soon learn how and when to strike at the Undercity and snuff out the Dark Lady Catalonia once and for all.”

The dwarf pursed his lips, scrutinizing Heero as if he was trying to decide whether or not he believed him. At length, he said, “Aye, I’ll buy it ye if ye kin show me some proof.”

Inwardly, Heero grimaced, a little uncertain of how things might proceed if it came to this, but it was too late to back out now. Resolutely, he stood and strode confidently towards Duo, grasping his fleshy arm by the wrist and rolling up his sleeve to reveal the Scarlet crest that was seared into Duo’s chalky skin. Duo gasped in horror, only able to curb his outrage because of his overwhelming shock.

Shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other, his arms still crossed over his chest, the dwarf finally acquiesced, “Alrigh’, I’ll believe ye – for now.” He motioned for the other dwarves to stow their weapons and walked over towards Heero and Duo. “I’ll let ye pass through town, but only if ye stay th’ night. I want some real time to muddle over wot ye be claimin’ here. Because I’d ‘ate ta think that I’d let friends of th’ Horde leave me sights alive,” he added with that deadly edge, only to immediately follow up in a much more jovial manner: “An’ I’d ‘ate even more so ta think I let friends go the night without a meal an’ a bed.” The loud guffaw that came after his comment didn’t do much to assure Heero that his impulsive plan would succeed.

With that, the dwarf guardsman motioned for the pair of them to follow and called his company to fall in line behind them. They marched quickly to Thelsamar, which was nestled between some hills about a league away from where the dwarves had found the pair of travelers. It was a typical dwarven town, with buildings that were cut into the sides of cliffs and wound their way deep underground. Heero and Duo were escorted into the town’s inn and down to the most subterranean room the establishment had to offer.

“Make ye’selves at ‘ome, and I’ll be sendin’ sommat down fer ye to eat,” the red-haired dwarf said from the doorway. “If ye be needin’ somefin’, just ‘oller.” He closed the door gently, though the series of clicks that came after denoted the turn of a key in the lock. Just outside, the dwarf could be heard muttering to another: “Be keepin’ a tight eye on this lot. Even if ‘ee is who ‘ee says, the Scarlets be no less o’ a threat to us than a’ army o’ orcs.”

“A’ least they won’t be runnin’ to yon warchief wi’ news o’ anythin’ they find ‘round ‘ere,” said the other dwarf, presumably the one who would be left outside their nightly accommodation.

“Aye,” sighed the first dwarf. “A’ least there’s that.”

Heero was staring at the door, a bit surprised that they had actually bothered to lock them into the room. However, spending the night in an inn with a real bed, even under surveillance, sure beat finding comfort on uneven dirt and pebbles, so he was quick to shrug it off. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, which had a frame hewn of heavy oak and a hand quilted duvet thrown over its down mattress, he tossed off his cloak and started working on his boot buckles.

Meanwhile, however, Duo was standing on the other side of the room, glowering at Heero with ferocious eyes and balled fists. When he couldn’t keep his anger bottled any longer, he finally snapped, “I can’t believe you!”

Heero stopped halfway through pulling off one of his boots to look up at Duo, a look of genuine confusion on his face. “Can’t believe what?” he wondered aloud. “I got us out of a real cockup. We’re lucky they didn’t kill us on sight.”

At first, Duo didn’t even say anything, and instead just pulled up his sleeve to reveal the Scarlet mark on his forearm, which was quivering with rage. “We’ll be lucky if they don’t kill us _now_,” he wheezed in a low voice so that the dwarf standing guard outside the room wouldn’t hear. “Do you even know what this _means_?”

Heero merely stared back at the warlock as if he were stupid.

Heero’s silence was of no consequence, for Duo didn’t wait long for Heero to say anything before taking his turn once more. “It is no mere initiation mark,” the hissed tirade continued; “The Scarlets brand only their most fanatic and loyal members with an emblem like this – those who belong to the Scarlet Onslaught. Those, who, in life, were…” his voice started to strangle, falling into an even harsher whisper. “Those who were like me.”

Despite the gravitas of such a revelation, Heero still was only able to stare back at Duo with indifference. To Heero’s logical rational, learning such a thing was hardly a surprise, considering that Duo had already told him that he had been heavily affected by the death of his older brother at the hands of the Scourge. That Duo had been aggrieved enough to make the voyage to Northrend and pledge himself to the most zealous wing of the Scarlet faction was actually probably something he should have already guessed.

“Well, don’t you see?” Duo snapped, abruptly yanking his huge sleeve back down to conceal the mark. “If that dwarf knows anything at all about the Onslaught, he’ll know you for a liar. And if he knows enough to figure that, he’ll want us dead for it.”

“You can’t be certain of that,” Heero finally said, unimpressed by Duo’s speech. “All you’ve managed to convince me of is that your irrationality is akin to what one would expect of someone who would so impulsively join a brigade like that.”

Duo snorted, turning his back on Heero as he shook his bony hand in an effort to get Asahi to crawl out. “Well, you’ve managed to convince _me_ that your ability to empathize has been put so high up on the shelf, you couldn’t reach it even if you had the help.” He gave his arm a very powerful flick, which sent Asahi flying from the depths of his sleeve and across the room. Stooping, he flattened his skeletal fingers against the wooden floor so that he could scoop Asahi up when the roach came skittering back. “Especially if it means putting down your damn pride for a minute,” he grumbled to his pet.

The clunk of Heero’s boot against one of the walls startled Duo into turning around again. Heero was staring straight at the black streak his boot had left on the stone upon impact, his shoulders quaking with rage. Duo got to his feet and slowly turned around with Asahi bouncing in his cupped, bony palm.

“I’m tired… of you… always making these… _assumptions_… about me!” Heero bit out between clenched teeth. He finally set his steely gaze on Duo, adding angrily, “Like you _know_ me!” He got up and strode confidently towards Duo, grabbing a fistful of Duo’s robes, growling, “You don’t know me.”

Unexpectedly, it was that dangerous smirk that found its way to Duo’s face. “On the contrary,” he drawled. “I rather think I know you very, very well.” He arched his eyebrows and shrugged, “Not that it’s all that hard. As I’ve said, you’re just as you always were.”

Heero gave Duo a hearty rattle. “As if you have any idea who I might have once been.”

Duo let out a tiny chuckle: “Heh, I’m fairly sure I might know that better than even you.” He puffed his chest out, causing Heero to stumble back a little, and jabbed a meaty finger under Heero’s chin. “Poor, lonely, little Heero, growing up all by himself in Dalaran,” Duo crooned mockingly. “Only one friend, who, try as he might, always seemed to fail at getting Heero to play nice with the other children. Ohh, poor Heero, too oblivious to be a part of the world around him, even when it was foisted upon him at such an early, early age….” Duo clucked deridingly, shaking his head like a dissatisfied teacher.

For Heero, this was going just one step too far, and, in a blind rage, he yanked on Duo’s robes in an effort to throw him to the ground. He might have succeeded if Duo hadn’t had the wherewithal to shrug out of the garment, leaving the rogue holding an empty robe aloft like a coat tree left standing in the middle of the room. But the trick wasn’t enough to phase Heero or his ire. He threw down the purple robe and continued to stalk towards Duo, who was now backed up against the side of the bed, dressed only in a shirt, cloak and trousers. Still, Duo would not be moved by Heero’s dissatisfaction, and was only prompted to egg him on further.

“Silence!” roared Heero a bit too loudly, shoving Duo backwards and sending him toppling back onto the mattress. He leapt after him, straddling the warlock’s hips as he raised his fist menacingly. “How dare you talk about my childhood like that,” he growled, ready to give Duo the beat down of a lifetime and hardly caring of how dishonourable such a thing would be. “You weren’t _there_; you don’t know what I was like when I was growing up! You don’t know the things I struggled with: the things _I _had – what _I_ lost!”

Giving in to his frustration, Heero let his fist descend upon Duo. The punch never met its mark, though, for just as Heero’s knuckles were about to connect with Duo’s nose, the warlock reached up and blocked with his fleshy hand. Releasing Asahi from his skeletal grip, Duo then reached up with his other hand to turn the tables and force Heero onto his back, which he managed after only a modest bit of wrestling. Looming over Heero on all fours as he pinned him down, Duo retorted, “Wrong again, my prince. I was there. After all, I knew Dalaran in my youth as well.”

Heero would have let some other string of angry words fly from his mouth if he hadn’t noticed something else that far superceded the argument in every way. Just over his face, dangling from a chain about Duo’s neck, glinted a medallion shaped into the emblem of Dalaran’s Kirin Tor mages. But more importantly than that, this particular medallion was slightly misshapen by a deep scar, as though a knife had been driven through the center of it, and it was then that Heero made a startling realization. He took his eyes away from the medallion and refocused them on Duo, unable to believe that he never before recognized the face he thought only existed in his memory.

“Heero?” Duo questioned, wondering why Heero was now looking at him as if he were staring at a ghost.

But Heero wasn’t listening, too lost in the whirlwind of emotions that had suddenly kicked up inside his chest. Instead, he could only reach up to touch the leathery flesh of Duo’s face as he whispered, “By the Light, it’s you….”

TBC


	12. Dalaran

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Title: ** _ **The Forsaken** _

**Title: ** _ **The Forsaken** _

**Author: **Link Worshiper

**Pairings:** 1=2, maybe some others if I feel like it

**Rating: **PG-13

**Stuff:** Fantasy AU, fluff, sap, language, adventure, WoW nerdiness

**Disclaimer:** I own Gundam Wing action figures? Warcraft and its lore belongs to Blizzard Entertainment. Both things are being played with out of fangirl love.

Thanks to danse and Natea for the once over. Despite the fact this is part of Natea’s birthday present, I still needed her to fill me in on the Alliance history they don’t teach us on Horde, so thanks for that also =P

-

Sorry this took forever to post. I’ve been in the process of moving out of my mom’s house for the past month or so, plus job hunting, so I haven’t had as much time to work on fan projects as before. Things seem to be settling down a bit, though, so I think I can get back to writing a bit more regularly. Thanks to everyone who’s been reading and reviewing. I hope you continue to enjoy the story.

-

_Part XII_

_Dalaran_

-

The first time Duo Blackscythe ever came to Dalaran, he was hardly a boy of five, loitering on the steps of Krasus’ Landing with his brother a few nights before the Feast of the Winter Veil was to begin. He had one arm wrapped around the older youth’s leg, the other extended upwards so that he might grip the hem of the blanket that swaddled the wailing infant his brother held close to his chest. His name had not been Blackscythe then, or even Duo for that matter, but rather some other title that had been given to him by parents he had been long since forgotten. Remembering that blustery night, Duo couldn’t help but feel detached from the memory, as if he were watching someone else’s life when he recalled the time when he had been alive.

After waiting in the snow for what seemed like an eternity, a mage clad in the purple and gold regalia of the Kirin Tor came scurrying out from the main gate to meet the brothers, a hand pressed to the crème cowl to keep the wind from blowing it away into the night. As she neared, Duo’s older brother spoke directly to her, wasting no time with formalities: “Sister Helen, I presume?” When she nodded, he said, “About time. We’d have survived orcs only to die of cold if you’d taken any longer to meet us out here.”

At the mention of orcs, Helen gasped, covering her mouth. “Where do you lads hail from?” she asked fearfully. She had heard that armies of green-skinned warriors had been aiming to satisfy their bloodlust with a string of merciless attacks on humans.

“Stormwind,” said Duo’s older brother bluntly. His answer chilled Helen’s blood more than even the howling blizzard that whipped around them. “When the Horde razed the city, we ran.”

“And the lady gave us her baby!” Duo chimed in eagerly, giving the swaddling blanket a tug. The sudden draft of cold that hit the baby caused it to let out a piteous wail. The sound seemed to startle Helen, who hadn’t realized until that moment that they had an infant with them. Instinctively, she reached out to take it from the older brother.

“Just who are you boys, anyway?” Helen asked, pressing the crying baby to her breast and rocking him gently.

“Oh, apologies. Our father used to speak of you. I’m Solo, and this is my little brother,” he replied with a slight bow, extricating his younger sibling from his leg so that he might present him to the mage more appropriately, though Duo still seemed more concerned about the baby’s welfare than introducing himself properly. He jabbed a finger at the wailing bundle in Helen’s arms and added, “And that’s Heero!”

Grimly, Solo finished by saying, “And as far as we know, we are the only survivors of the Horde’s assault on Stormwind.”

-

Years passed, and Stormwind was eventually restored to its former glory under a new king, the young Milliardo Wrynn, but the three refugees had found a new home in Dalaran and had no desire to go back. Their reasons for this were all as different from the next as each boy was from the other: for instance, Solo had found a calling working with the younger children at the orphanage that had reared him and his brother, while Duo had shown interest in studying magic, and had since become and acolyte of the Kirin Tor.

Meanwhile, Heero, who had been immediately swept up by a doting, motherly Helen the night he had arrived in Dalaran, simply accepted his existence for what it was, completely unaware there had ever been anything else. Helen had never quite found a way to properly explain Heero’s rather unique circumstances, so she, quite simply, never told him the truth of it. Heero, of course, had the sense to know that he was an extremely fortunate orphan, but he had no reason to question beyond that, and quite frankly, didn’t care to. Luck wasn’t something he liked to risk upsetting, as he was certain he was already on shaky ground with it as it was.

And yet, despite a childhood spent in the cradle of Dalaran’s elite, Heero couldn’t help but feel something was out of joint. By most standards, Heero’s life was not dull, but he often found himself dragging on through his days mechanically, finding his routine disinteresting and passionless. He studied magic because he had been raised in the arms of Kirin Tor mages, and though he was technically proficient in his learning, he privately thought such meditative teachings were not something for which he felt naturally inclined. Proof of this could be found easily in his best and only friend, Quatre, whose innate abilities were only accentuated by his passion for the craft.

Not that Quatre’s life was exactly ideal either. He was the son of the High Archmage, the Kirin Tor leader to whom everyone in Dalaran looked to for guidance. The pressure that fell on Quatre to excel and follow in his father’s footsteps was immense, but Quatre secretly harboured a desire to follow the path of Elune, something that would surely upset all the expectations most people had for him. Heero empathized with this torn feeling, thinking it rather similar to his own situation, and thus found a confidant and fast friend in Quatre that he had yet to discover anywhere else.

“Perhaps you should turn to Elune as well,” Quatre suggested one day as the two of them shared sandwiches by the fountain in Runeweaver Square. He chewed thoughtfully and swallowed before adding, “The way of the Moon might help you find peace.”

Heero, who had just finished lamenting over his morning casting class, pressed his cheek into his palm. “I’m not sure I would make a very good priest, Quatre,” he sighed, staring down at the rosy cobblestones beneath their feet. “It’s possibly more meditative than even being a mage.”

“I meant, you could be a paladin,” said Quatre, taking another large bite out of his sandwich. “You’re still young enough, I think. And then you could at least learn swords and polearms and such.”

“Maybe,” said Heero with another sigh, though the suggestion was actually something worth considering. “But then I would still be disappointing Helen.”

Quatre took a moment to finish the last bit of his food and then reached for the flagon of berry juice that sat between them. After taking a long sip, he said, “Look, Heero, I know you feel the need to please her since she’s just short of being your mother, but I really doubt she would stop you if you expressed your feelings about it to her.”

“Easy for you to say,” Heero retorted morosely. “At least your father will still be your father, even if you do end up a priest instead of a mage. Helen has no reason to stay attached to me in that case.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous,” chided Quatre, pursing his lips. “Just because Helen adopted you doesn’t mean that she loves you any less than she might if you were actually her blood.”

Heero merely grunted and stared off down the street, idly watching the passersby with blank eyes. Most of them carried on with their business without a care, and Heero found himself secretly resenting them for it. He didn’t mind being adopted, but it sometimes bothered him that he didn’t really know who he was. Becoming a mage almost seemed as arbitrary as his name, which was one he couldn’t even be certain was actually his. Mulling over the thought, he distractedly reached for his own sandwich, which had been lying beside him, still wrapped in the linen Quatre had tied it up in after he’d made it.

Only to find it wasn’t there. Heero’s hand closed around air, and he suddenly snapped to attention, glaring down at the place where he’d put the sandwich when he’d sat down. Looking up, his eyes swung around the square, glaring suspiciously at everyone nearby and wondering which one of them had the gall to steal from him. Quatre stared at him, a little mortified and confused as to what had set Heero off.

Heero was hardly paying attention to Quatre, though, especially when he caught sight of the culprit, who was indiscreetly unwrapping Heero’s sandwich to take a hearty bite. He had longish, brown hair, which hung around his face in messy chunks, and wore the robes of a Kirin Tor acolyte – something that just served to annoy Heero even further, considering his recent train of thought. Angrily, he got to his feet and stalked over towards the thief. “Just who do you think you are?” Heero demanded to know as he approached, catching the longhaired mage apprentice off guard.

Undisturbed by the fact that he’d just been caught, the acolyte let a lazy smile cross his face. “Oh, was this yours?” he drawled, holding the sandwich out towards Heero.

“Yes,” Heero hissed as he snatched it back, far from amused.

“Ohh,” the acolyte hummed, lifting his now-empty hands up like he was offering a truce. “Didn’t look to me like you were going to eat it. I hate seeing food go to waste.”

“Well, I _was_,” snapped Heero. Then, without another word on the matter, he marched back over towards Quatre and the fountain, careless of what the acolyte thought of his abrupt attitude. He sat down with a huff and moodily lifted the sandwich to his mouth, tearing into it more out of resentment than hunger as Quatre continued to stare. He shot his blond friend a look, squishing an agitated, “_What?_” around a mouthful of food.

“Nothing,” Quatre answered, promptly closing his mouth. His wide, blue eyes darted in the direction of the kleptomaniac acolyte, who had taken up residence on one of the benches that surrounded the perimeter of the square, and offered a small shrug of apology.

The sound of Heero’s voice sharply drew Quatre’s attention once more: “Do you _know_ him?” Heero demanded, glaring sternly over his sandwich.

“You mean Father Maxwell’s boy?” Quatre asked, nodding his head in the direction of the acolyte, who, in turn, waved back with a smug look on his face that Heero did not appreciate. “Yes, I know him. A little,” Quatre went on, ignoring Heero’s reaction. “He works in the library during my history classes, anyway. I see him cataloguing books all the time.”

“I didn’t know the master of the orphanage had any children of his own,” was all Heero drew from Quatre’s description. “I thought that was the reason he took the reins of the orphanage at all.”

Quatre shrugged again, this time with genuine uncertainty. “Maybe he decided that with all the children that come and go through his doors, it was time he found some to truly call his own,” Quatre surmised. “He _is_ getting rather old, and from what I hear, the older brother is being groomed to take his place….”

Heero took in this information, nodding only after he had processed it all with his usual, meticulous precision. He glanced up to reexamine the acolyte, a little annoyed to find himself staring at an empty bench. The sentiment was short lived, though, and he soon returned to his sandwich and his prior conversation with Quatre about their studies.

Little did he realize that his relationship with Duo Blackscythe was far from over.

-

Hallow’s End had come and gone, and it seemed like Brewfest had barely arrived before the first flurries of the cold seasons were heralding the approach of the Winter Veil. The snowiest time of the year was always a somewhat solemn time for Heero, despite the joyous holiday spirit that pervaded the annual celebrations. Instead of focusing on the traditions of the Winter Veil, Heero was busier contemplating the childhood he hardly remembered, desperate that he might one day draw out some detail that had escaped him all these years.

Unfortunately for Heero, Quatre was probably the biggest proponent of Winter Veil festivities in all of Azeroth. Without fail, every year, Heero ended up being dragged to this or that holiday party or dinner, forced to feign enjoyment for the sake of his friend. The moment Winter Veil lights and garlands started adorning the streets of Dalaran, Quatre was already talking about gift giving and dancing. Heero wished he could take no part in any of it, hardly one for social extravaganzas of any kind, but he also knew his participation in such things was very important to Quatre, so he never protested even when Quatre pushed him into situations that made him uncomfortable.

This particular year, there was to be a grand ball hosted by the Kirin Tor for some of the most elite figures in Azeroth. As the son of the Archmage, Quatre was, of course, expected to be there, and he was determined to make sure Heero would be as well. “Please, Heero,” Quatre begged as they sat together in the library, studying, “if you go to this ball, I promise I won’t ask you to any other parties for the rest of the year.”

Heero frowned. He was willing to go to please Quatre, but he was wary. “What is so important about _this_ particular ball?” he wanted to know, not even bothering to look up from the book he was reading to ask the question.

Quatre balked a little, unsure of how to explain. “Nothing,” he finally said. “I just think it would be good for you. Maybe you’ll meet someone new.”

“Are you saying you are tired of my company?” Heero asked, his flat tone doing well to mask his concern over such a thought.

“No!” Quatre exclaimed, growing flustered. “It’s just, well… you know, so many people from kingdoms all over the world will be there. It might help expand your horizons a little….”

The frown still had not left Heero’s face. “I think I’m rather well-rounded as it is,” he said, not quite seeing Quatre’s point. “Besides, what’s the point of meeting someone from another land if it’s doubtful I’d see them again?”

Quatre let out a huff of exasperation, the first real hint of his toil to get Heero to be more social. “Being well-rounded is more than just knowing the things you find in the library backwards and forwards, you know,” he said, sounding a little weary. “I mean, there’s a distinct difference between _reading_ about the elves of Silvermoon and actually meeting one.”

Heero suddenly snapped shut the book he was reading. “I don’t see why you’re pressing this so adamantly. You know I’ll end up going anyway,” he snapped, getting to his feet with a fiery glower in his eyes. Clearly annoyed, he stalked off towards the bookcases as if he meant to return the tome in his hand, though his true intent was actually just to find a little seclusion amid the shelves.

Unfortunately for Heero, solitude was not to be his. He had no sooner gotten far enough into the labyrinth of bookshelves to be removed from Quatre, when he found himself stumbling nose-first into someone else.

“Hey, watch it!” came an annoyed grunt as Heero withdrew with a muttered apology. He looked up, half expecting to see some annoyed scholar preparing to berate him for his carelessness, and was surprised to find himself met with none other than the acolyte who he would eventually know as Duo Blackscythe.

“Well, what do we have here?” said the acolyte, a lopsided grin on his face. He stood with a hand on each hip, a stack of books hovering magically at his side. “Heero Yuy, isn’t it? The magic student who finds spellcasting a bore.”

The only response Heero could muster was the ability to let his jaw fall a bit slack. He was so amazed that this stranger seemed to know who he was, much less his name, that he forgot to take offense at the jibe. Certainly, he had seen him around, suddenly taking notice of his existence ever since the incident in Runeweaver Square, but he didn’t know much more about him than what he’d casually observed from afar. He couldn’t even supply a name to call the acolyte in return.

“Heh, don’t say everything all at once,” the acolyte quipped in the stead of Heero’s silence. Snapping his fingers, he beckoned the book from Heero’s hand and called it to his own with an effortless spell. “_’The War of the Ancients’_,” he read aloud from the book’s spine, that amused expression still firmly in place. “Doesn’t look like something that’s going to help you much on your exams.” He tossed the book into the air, and, as if guided by a string, it flew up and landed neatly atop the stack of magically floating books. Then, turning towards the bookshelf, he looked up and summoned another tome from one of the top shelves, catching it as it dropped from is perch. Handing the new book, which was entitled _‘A Guide to Elemental Sorcery’_, to Heero, he said, “This should be much more useful, I think.”

Dubiously taking the book, Heero thanked him without a hint of amusement in his tone. He was well aware that history books weren’t going to help him with passing the biannual exams that were fast approaching, but he couldn’t help but find more interest in the lore and campaigns of wars past than the tedium of focused casting. It was hard for him to tell if the acolyte also knew that as well, or if he was genuinely trying to make a recommendation. Somehow, Heero had a feeling his initial instinct was the correct one.

“So,” the longhaired acolyte went on, mounting one of the nearby bookcase ladders, his floating stack of books in tow, “what brings you to the library today, Heero?”

“Accompanying a friend, I guess,” Heero answered, not really in the mood for explanations as he watched him climb the ladder and, one by one, return the books in his stack to their proper place with a flourish of his hand.

“Not doing a very good job, are you,” the acolyte rejoined with a smirk Heero couldn’t see from the floor.

“I needed a break,” Heero deadpanned.

“What, from not studying?” the acolyte asked with a laugh. He flicked one hand to the left, commanding the rolling ladder he was perched upon to slide over a couple of feet. “You’ll never become an acolyte with an attitude like that, even if you _do_ have connections with the Kirin Tor.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be!” Heero snapped, unsure where his acerbity was coming from. Much to his furthered annoyance, all the acolyte could respond with was a chuckle and, “I didn’t think so.”

Pulling the last book of the stack from the air to manually return it to the shelf, the acolyte slid down the length of the ladder and alighted on the floor. Crossing his arms and leading against the bookcases, he arched his eyebrows and asked, “So let me ask again, what are you _really_ doing here.”

Sensing the acolyte’s urge to play this kind of game with him, Heero said, “Here in the library or _here_?”

“Here,” said the other with a lackadaisical roll of his shoulders. “Though, really, I suppose it’s an unfair question: I mean, after all, why is anyone ever _anywhere_, you know?”

Heero sucked in a breath at the train of thought the acolyte’s comment conjured: never truly knowing who he was had led him to such existentialist thinking on more than one occasion, but having such things voiced was something altogether different. Deciding to neatly avert the mention of such a topic, Heero said, “Like I told you, I was here with a friend, until I decided I needed some space.”

“Ahh,” the acolyte hummed; “And now, you’re here with me.”

“Not by my choosing,” Heero retorted sharply.

“Such things are not always for us to choose,” the acolyte shrugged again. Then, the mischievous grin returned to his lips and he added, “Or perhaps t’was Fate did that.”

Heero had a mind to argue back, to say something snarky about choosing to walk away, but something else in the back of his mind left him pondering the acolyte’s words instead. He got the distinct feeling that there was more to the other man than what met the eye, but he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to stick around long enough to delve beyond such appearances. “Who are you,” Heero asked, not cutting any corners. “Really.”

At Heero’s abrupt question, the acolyte seemed a bit taken aback. “Is conversation really such a crime in your book?” he wondered, shaking his head incredulously at Heero.

“It is when you presume too much,” Heero hissed back. He hoped his prickly demeanor would eventually scare the acolyte off, but was sorely disappointed to find that this tactic, which usually worked so well with other people, was not effective here at all. Heero found the other man’s tenacity extremely infuriating, and decided to let the longhaired mage know it: “I don’t need you acting like you know me so well! Such things frustrate me enough with the friends I already have, much less _you_.”

“A wonder you have any with an attitude like that,” the acolyte answered coolly. “How is it that you even managed it at all?”

Heero’s rejoinder was crisp and immediate. “Circumstance,” he said, crossing his arms and frowning at him.

Much to Heero’s chagrin, his succinct answer only caused the acolyte to burst out into laughter. “And this isn’t circumstance enough for you?” he wanted to know between wheezing guffaws.

Heero looked away to hide his faltering expression, feeling a bit meeker that his steely demeanor seemed to have no effect on the other man whatsoever. The whole thing made him incredibly anxious. “I barely know you,” he tried to protest. “I don’t even know what you’re called.”

A terrifyingly mischievous smile laced the acolyte’s features, and he said, “Well, perhaps I’ll tell you if you make the effort.” Casually, he added, “Perhaps we could meet again, and we could talk some more.”

Something enticing glinted in his eyes, though Heero couldn’t say exactly what it was. All he knew was that the swallow that fell down his throat hurt, and that he was vaguely intrigued by the mysterious air to the acolyte’s invitation. The notion didn’t last particularly long, however, and he was quick to snap himself back to attention. Straightening, he said, “I’ll think about it.” With that, he quickly turned on his heel and marched back towards the place where he had left Quatre and his studies, adamantly refusing to even glance back at the acolyte and the triumphant smile he was sure to be wearing on his face.

But just as he was about to reemerge from the bookshelf maze and rejoin Quatre, Heero faltered when he realized that Quatre was no longer alone. Sitting with him in the chair that Heero had vacated was a girl with honey blond hair, chatting casually with Quatre. She wore the gold, white and violet robes of a magic student, suggesting that she was a friend of Quatre’s from one of his classes. Heero thought she looked vaguely familiar, as if he might have seen her around, but he still had no idea who she was, and felt uncomfortable intruding on a conversation he was very likely to exclude him. Still, he couldn’t help but overhear snatches of what they were saying to each other, curious as to what sorts of things Quatre spoke about with his less difficult acquaintances.

“Well, did you find out?” asked the girl, leaning her chin in one hand. She sounded excited to hear whatever news Quatre had about her query.

“Sort of,” replied Quatre, leaning back in his chair. “I didn’t get a definite answer, but it seems more likely than the last time I tried.”

The girl’s shoulders slumped slightly, but she didn’t allow it to quell her hopeful demeanor. “I really appreciate you going to the trouble,” she said. “It’s not something anyone else is fit to do, I think. He seems much more willing to listen to you than most, anyway.”

“Well, he can be a bit difficult,” Quatre mused with a shrug. “But that’s not to say he’s completely unreasonable. I think he’ll at least go, so even if you don’t get to escort him, you could at least have a few dances.”

The girl sighed thankfully. “One dance is all I want,” she said, sounding a bit wistful.

It was about then that Heero had an epiphany and realized that they were talking about _him_. No wonder Quatre had wanted him to go to the Winter Veil Ball so desperately. Obviously, this friend of Quatre’s wanted to accompany him, and Quatre was working hard to facilitate her. Heero frowned at the notion, feeling no more comfortable with it than he did at the prospect of getting to know the acolyte better. As far as he was concerned, the ball was an occasion to do no more than put on his nice tunic and slosh back a couple glasses of fine wine. He would go to please Quatre, but there was only so much he was willing to push for such an occasion. He would have to devise a way to bring this situation up to his blond friend as soon as the girl was gone. Anxiously, he waited for her to leave, more than certain that he did not want to make his presence known while she was there.

“Well, thank you so much, Quatre, dear,” the girl said presently, rising to her feet. She leaned over the table to take up Quatre’s hands and kiss him on each cheek. “I really appreciate what you’re doing for me. I just… well, it just seems like no matter what I do, I can’t even get him to notice me, much less become closer to him.”

“It’s no trouble at all, Relena,” Quatre smiled warmly. “I like to think that, sometimes, all Heero needs is a push in the right direction. He can be rather single minded at times, and the blinders he wears keeps him from thinking about anything that’s not routine.”

“I’d like to hope I could become a part of that routine,” answered Relena, exuding a confidence that furthered Heero’s discomfort. He didn’t appreciate the way they were speaking about him as if they knew exactly how he’d think or feel about the whole thing. He wondered if his reaction would have been the same if their plans had continued without his knowledge.

He had a sneaking suspicion that it would.

-

TBC


	13. The Feast of the Winter Veil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Title: ** _ **The Forsaken** _

**Title: ** _ **The Forsaken** _

**Author: **Link Worshiper

**Pairings:** 1=2, maybe some others if I feel like it

**Rating: **PG-13

**Stuff:** Fantasy AU, fluff, sap, language, adventure, WoW nerdiness

**Disclaimer:** I own Gundam Wing action figures? Warcraft and its lore belongs to Blizzard Entertainment. Both things are being played with out of fangirl love.

Thanks to danse and Natea for the once over. Despite the fact this is part of Natea’s birthday present, I still needed her to fill me in on the Alliance history they don’t teach us on Horde, so thanks for that also =P

\--

_Part XIII_

_The Feast of the Winter Veil _

\--

By the time the minstrels had struck up the evening’s fourth waltz, Heero was already deep into almost that many glasses of wine. He wasn’t drunk, but he felt a pleasant numbness that was keeping him placid as the Winter Veil Ball progressed. He supposed for what it was, it was nice – perhaps even mildly enjoyable – but that was probably a conclusion he’d found at the bottom of one of his flagons. To that end, he was glad that Quatre had taken the reins on the social aspect of being there, because it meant that all he had to do was follow him around and shake the hand of whoever he was introduced to. It was an acceptably simple routine.

Unfortunately, Heero’s easy compliance wasn’t meant to last the entire night. Ever since he had gotten dressed for the evening, the memory of the conversation he had overheard between Quatre and his friend, Relena, was nagging from the back of his mind. So when he caught sight of the lady in question amongst the other partygoers, it was with trepidation that Heero trailed after Quatre, who was casually making his way towards her. He wasn’t sure if Quatre had also noticed her or if the blonde was going to pretend like their eventual meeting was pure coincidence, but Heero was wary: he eyed one of the passing servers, wondering if it would be a good idea to partake in another glass of wine. He had barely decided to follow through on that plan when he felt a tug at his sleeve.

“Heero, I would like you to meet a friend of mine,” Quatre was saying as Heero turned around, unhappy that the interruption had let that fresh goblet of wine slip away. He glowered, even as Relena started to introduce herself.

“My name is Relena Proudmoore,” she said, offering a friendly hand that was promptly ignored as Heero quickly strode after the escaping server. “What’s… yours…?” she found herself asking the empty space where Heero had just been standing.

Quatre let out a sigh so despondent, his entire frame seemed to droop. “By Elune, Relena, I am so sorry. These sorts of functions aren’t really his forte, but I hardly expected something as severe as that….”

But Relena was hardly listening to him. With a resolve she had inherited from her father, the Grand Admiral of the Alliance navy, she strode confidently in the direction Heero had gone, her blue gown fluttering behind her as she moved. Quatre stared after her, his jaw slightly loose: he couldn’t decide if such a presumptuous move would bode well.

“A little fire to her, isn’t there,” came a new voice from Quatre’s left. The blonde turned to see the speaker, surprised to find himself standing next to the most regal looking elf he had ever laid eyes on. Even by elf standards, this newcomer was extremely handsome, with long, red bangs that swept over half his forehead and the most startling green eyes Quatre had ever seen.

Swallowing a lump he hadn’t realized had risen in his throat, Quatre gathered his composure and replied, “Yes, well, she has always been one to pursue the things she wants with unspeakable precision.” He laughed, albeit a bit awkwardly, as he added, “It almost leaves me to wonder why she had asked for my help in speaking to him in the first place.”

“Ah, I see,” mused the elf, though it was hard to tell exactly what it was he was seeing. “I trust your evening is proceeding with more success than hers,” he went on, nodding towards Relena.

Quatre straightened, unsure how to take the comment. “Whatever do you mean?” he asked, feeling a little insulted on Relena’s behalf.

The elf turned to face Quatre, quirking one eyebrow as a tiny smirk flicked the corner of his mouth. “Can’t you tell? He’s half the world away,” he said. “She’ll leave this place heartbroken, I can assure you.” Then he shrugged, adding, “But I suppose everyone needs to learn the lesson somehow.”

Quatre furrowed his brow. “I still don’t quite see what you’re getting at,” he pressed, unsure why he was having such a hard time looking the stranger dead on. There must have been something in those sleepy eyes that kept Quatre feeling so anxious, something the blonde found himself troubling over more than the subject at hand. It was then that he realized that the elf was giving him a cursory once-over that clenched at Quatre’s self-esteem and reddened his cheeks.

“Who would have thought that a flushing human could look so becoming,” the elf commented drolly, fruitlessly trying to push his long bangs out of his face. Then, with that, he offered Quatre a gentlemanly bow and disappeared into the crowd with a swoosh of his cloak almost as mysteriously as he’d come.

“What was that?” Quatre whispered to himself, almost too stunned to even assess the encounter logically. “And who…?”

Meanwhile, Relena found that Heero had not wandered too far away. He stood by a large window, contentedly sipping a new glass of wine and leaning against the wall in such a way that told other people he wasn’t interested in their company. Relena completely ignored all of that and brazenly reached out to tap Heero’s shoulder.

Startled, Heero nearly dropped his goblet as he spun around, his free hand zooming for the decorative knife he wore on his belt. With the glower immediately returning to his face, Heero snapped angrily, “Can’t you see I want to be left by myself?”

Refusing to allow herself to be intimidated by Heero’s affront, she merely replied, “What I can see is that you would rather be a hundred other places right now, but I think that since you’re here instead, you might as well make the most of it.” Then she dropped a perfect curtsy and said, “So would you please give me the pleasure of this dance?”

Heero didn’t immediately reply, surprised to find himself reassessing his opinion of this girl. He still wasn’t eager to involve himself with the festivities, but he had to admit that he found Relena’s determination admirable, if a bit too forward. He decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. “Fine,” he said curtly, pointedly setting his glass down on the nearby windowsill and offering her a stiff elbow.

Heero had been taught to dance by Helen, and though he was technically skillful, his lack of enthusiasm was apparent in the mechanical way he guided Relena across the floor. Relena didn’t seem to notice, too elated that she was able to share such a romantic moment with Quatre’s handsome friend. Her heart thrummed in her chest as she mulled over what she should say to him, all the while trying to catch his elusive eyes.

Reluctance was probably the best way to describe what coloured Heero’s ginger touch. There was something intimidating about meeting her gaze straight on, though, and he tried his best to avoid it. If he looked at her, it was because that was what one was supposed to do when he danced with someone else, but he couldn’t suppress his wandering attention, even as her fingers curled more tightly into the fabric of his tunic. Like Relena, he also wondered if he should say something, though the sorts of things he was considering were far different from what was passing through her mind. It was with a sense of trepidation that he realized that she had laid her head on his shoulder.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice flat. His stomach was churning, but he couldn’t tell if it was because of the wine or anxiety.

She drew back, an earnest expression in her eyes. “Is something wrong?” she wondered, concerned that she’d upset him somehow.

Heero faltered, unsure how to word his discomfort with the proximity. He couldn’t tell if it was her, or if it was something in his own heart that made him want to recoil, but he knew something wasn’t right about it. “You lean on me with the helplessness of a kitten up a tree,” he finally said in his best effort to express these things, though it was a pretty feeble attempt. Truthfully, her demeanor had almost nothing to do with Heero’s apprehension.

Astounded by such a comment, Relena could only blink at him, her lips parted in surprise. Despite Heero’s callous attitude, she couldn’t help the butterflies hovering in her stomach and tickling her heart. Shaking her head, she begged him to understand how she felt. “It’s as though you’ve had me by a string since the moment I first saw you,” she said, pressing his hand to her chest and holding it fast. “Can’t you see how hopelessly in love with you I am? That’s why I’m following you.”

It was Heero’s turn to be left in a state of disbelief after such an admission. Quickly, he tried to pull his hand away, afraid of what might come of leaving it in Relena’s custody for another moment. “I don’t know what to tell you,” he finally admitted. “You say you love me, but I hardly know who you are.”

“But that doesn’t matter, don’t you see?” Relena suddenly exclaimed, passion building in her chest. She clasped her gloved hands over her breast, trying hard not to let her emotions get the better of her. Reigning in control of her voice, she whispered, “Sometimes, you just know the moment you encounter someone. And I… I knew it had to be you. I can feel it.”

“You’re a fool,” Heero said succinctly, not even taking a moment to consider how harsh his reaction was.

Unexpectedly, a small chuckle escaped Relena’s mouth as she hung her head, her honey coloured hair falling around her face as she murmured, “Yes, I know. But that’s how it goes when a woman loves a man.”

Heero was not inclined to agree. “What a waste of thought,” he said tartly, his dancing lending itself to a more abrupt pattern as he continued to lead Relena across the floor. “You play a silly, one-sided game.”

Relena tried to catch Heero’s distant eyes with the pleading expression locked in hers. “Haven’t you ever been in love?” she asked sympathetically, almost as if she pitied him. “Don’t you believe in romance?” Her arms tightened around his neck as she leaned in, her eyelids fluttering over her blue irises. “If only you’d take a chance on me,” she whispered, suddenly very close.

Heero drew back almost immediately, threatening to drop her with the speed at which he recoiled. “But it still feels wrong,” he gasped, a hint of desperation riddling his tone. There was no mistaking that she’d almost managed to kiss him, but it was the fear that had suddenly consumed him that had instilled such an immediate urge to flee. He wanted to break free of this fruitless dance and escape, to be somewhere quiet and solitary so that he might gather his thoughts and better understand what had transpired. Quickly, he pushed her away, careless of decorum.

Relena felt as if she had been dropped over the edge of a tall cliff, falling even as she stood by herself in the middle of the dance floor, watching Heero slowly retreat. “So cruel,” she murmured, her voice drowned out by the merry waltz that was still twirling around her. She barely even noticed the tears that had started to dribble down her cheeks, still too focused on Heero to let him go, even as he continued to slip further away. Things had seemed so magical scant moments before: it made her wonder what had caused the pieces to fall apart like this.

For his part, Heero was suddenly too overwhelmed with a sense of vertigo to concern himself about Relena, and quickly found his defense mechanisms kicking into overdrive. The huge ballroom felt much more crowded than it had earlier, and it only made him want to get out of there even faster. Grabbing a final glass of wine for the road, Heero made a beeline for the exit, desperate to escape to wintery gardens outside.

That place was dangerous, he told himself as he picked up his pace, careless of the people he was elbowing through to get out sooner. He felt as if he’d just avoided a harrowing death, nervously looking around as if peril was still at his heels even as he left the building and alighted upon a bench in the neighbouring courtyard. His ears were filled with the splash of a nearby fountain’s bubbling water, a welcome change from the dull roar that had purveyed the ballroom, and he was pleased to find that focusing on it did well to calm his twisting innards. A light snowfall began to flurry around him, adding to his newfound tranquility. He let out a thankful sigh of relief and sipped at his wine.

He had just reached a moment of perfect inner peace, when an unexpected shout filled the air and ripped him from his calm state of mind. Eyes snapping open, he angrily looked around, frustrated that he couldn’t find a single moment for himself. There was a chorus of laughter echoing through the streets, easily finding its way to his once quiet spot, and it didn’t take long for the unsurprising culprit to reveal himself. “I should have known,” Heero growled as none other than the longhaired acolyte from the library appeared near the fountain.

The acolyte easily heard the comment, and upon recognizing Heero’s voice, turned in his direction with that lazy smile of his in place. “Well, look who we have here: an ice prince dressed gaily for the ball, yet alone in the snow,” he drawled, swaggering towards Heero with the gait of someone who had perhaps had one flagon of mead too many. “Staying up late to see if Father Winter has a gift for you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Heero scoffed, sniffing in the other direction even as the Kirin Tor apprentice neared his bench. He tossed back a rather indulgent gulp of wine and added, “I haven’t the time for such wives’ tales.”

Grinning, the longhaired mage plopped down beside Heero, careless of the snowy crust that had built up since it had started to flurry. “Well, then we’ll just have to find a more engaging way to whittle away your hours,” he said, hoping Heero would have the depravity to fill in the insinuated gaps. With a suggestive elbow into Heero’s side, he goaded, “What say you, my prince?”

Heero harrumphed. “I say, take yourself and your knavish ways far from my person,” he grouched. “I just want to be alone.”

With a roll of his eyes, the acolyte waved off Heero’s command as if it were nothing more than a passing whim. “Nay, I doubt that. No one ever _really_ wants to be alone – especially during Winter Veil,” the mage said, combing a few loose tendrils of hair behind one ear. “Or at least, no one should be.”

Annoyance finally flared up within in Heero, a culmination of all the frustrations he had undergone that night. Expressing more emotion than he had probably displayed around anyone other than Quatre, he raged, “How dare you assume to know how I think or feel? It’s such presumptuousness that makes me wish for solitude at all!” He lifted the wine glass to his lips for another long taste.

“Who is being presumptuous?” the acolyte asked with a shrug. “I am merely stating what I have found to be true in my own experience. I do have a few years on you; I think I may have learned a thing or two in my time!” With that, he reached for Heero’s goblet, easily plucking it from his numb fingers. He wrinkled his nose at the scent of it as he brought it nearer to his mouth, quickly returning it to Heero: “Ugh, such fancy brews don’t suit me at all.”

Heero hardly noticed the proffered glass, too busy trying to make sense of his companion’s eccentricities with a furrowed brow. It did not occur to him how strange his own behaviour seemed to most others, instead more focused on the fact that the acolyte was not put off by the airs that most other people found troublesome in him. Despite the easiness in the young mage’s attitude, Heero was prickled by the other’s flippant ignorance of it all. He swallowed, suddenly overwhelmed by a chill that had nothing to do with the coldness.

Arching his eyebrows, the acolyte retracted the goblet and swirled it beneath his nose again, as if trying to decide if he ought to indulge in it after all. He smirked at Heero when he came to a decision about it, pointedly putting his lips on the spot where Heero had been sipping. “Perhaps an acquired taste,” he assessed afterwards. “But maybe its aberrance is part of the appeal.” With that, he knocked back the rest of the wine in one gulp, indulgently allowing it to dribble around his chin as he did so.

It was then that Heero noticed that the acolyte had planted his hand on the bench beneath Heero’s cloak, his wrist pressing into the small of his back. Unlike Relena’s hands, which had sent waves of neurosis throughout his body, the feel of the mage apprentice’s forearm created a sensation of a different nature. He still felt a similar anxiety, but where he had been uncomfortable before, he now felt something more akin to anticipation radiating from the acolyte’s touch. It left him trying to ponder out what the difference was.

So lost was Heero in his mental reasoning that he was almost alarmed when he realized that the other had leaned in closer, practically sighing into his ear. “What are your Winter Veil plans now, my prince?” he asked, his voice strangely husky.

The sweet scent of mead was fresh on the acolyte’s breath, almost as intoxicating to Heero as the alcohol itself might have been. His blue eyes darted in the acolyte’s direction, catching his hooded expression. Another shiver crumbled down Heero’s spine, and he absently moved to tighten his cloak around his shoulders, inadvertently pressing his companion’s arm more tightly against his back. He tensed.

Noticing Heero’s discomfort, the Kirin Tor apprentice quickly tucked his wayward appendage beneath his own cloak, though its absence did nothing to relieve Heero’s nerves. “Don’t misunderstand,” the acolyte assured Heero.

“Misunderstand what,” Heero breathed, hardly allowing air to escape his lungs. It bewildered him that he felt just as helpless without the acolyte’s touch. The very things he had so heartlessly said to Relena and the emotional response she had returned to him earlier replayed in his head, leaving him with the taste of a hypocrite’s words on his tongue.

The acolyte, who seemed unaware of Heero’s inner turmoil, merely shrugged and said, “Wanting to be here with you.” He leaned in again, smiling as he clarified, “For wanting to know you better – for you to come with me.”

The clatter of women’s shoes on the frozen cobblestones and the sound of a woman calling Heero’s name threw a noose around his heart, threatening to squeeze his soul right out. The moment he realized that Relena had left the ball and had come out to look for him, Heero felt the anticipatory swelling inside his chest become one of dread. The contrast was as stark as moon and sun.

“I don’t mind,” Heero quickly said, his lips moving of their own accord as Relena’s voice grew nearer. The garden where they sat was practically adjacent to the Violet Citadel, the ballroom of which was hosting the Winter Veil gala; it wouldn’t take long for a quick girl like Relena to figure out to where Heero had vanished. Heero sucked in another mouthful of air, wondering, “Where are we going?”

“Wherever you like,” Duo drawled. “But if it’s all the same to you, my brother is hosting a holiday party – small, intimate: nothing like that circus you were trapped in before.”

But Heero didn’t even have time to wonder how the mage apprentice knew he had been at the ball – or how he seemed to know everything about his life and his habits – and instead staggered to his feet, dizzy. His hand immediately darted out, flailing around for some kind of support until it was caught in the acolyte’s sturdy grasp. Heero’s eyes wandered down the length of their conjoined arms, slowly lifting his gaze to meet the other’s. For a minute, it felt as if he’d lost himself, his breath frozen in the air and hovering around his lips too slowly to be real. Never in his life had Heero dreamed that even the deepest stars of Elune’s ream could fit into such a well – that he could fall and sail to the moon all at once.

A microcosm.

\--

The moment was shattered like a summer rain suddenly needling a still pond. Just when it seemed that Relena would find the snowy garden at any moment, the longhaired acolyte suddenly jerked Heero closer and, with speed that was befitting of a rogue, muttered what sounded like a spell. Immediately, the entire world around Heero seemed to flicker and blink away, ceding into another place altogether. Now they stood further down the street, well away from the garden and closer to the mercantile district. “A trick I just learned,” the acolyte informed Heero with a grin before grabbing him and blinking down the street yet again. The acolyte’s peals of laughter echoed through the quiet streets as they flickered along like fireflies in the night.

They were soon deep in the more residential section of the city, entering a humble walk-up apartment building that seemed to blend in with the others along that particular stretch of road. Heero couldn’t help but wonder if the constant teleporting to reach this place had been truly aimed at showing off, or if it was instead been employed to keep Heero intentionally disoriented. And yet, despite such an observation, which would have normally sent Heero reeling in the opposite direction, he found himself following the acolyte inside without protest. Try as he might to moor himself in logic, he was only able to flash back to dancing with Relena, picturing her mouth as it shaped the words that described her irrational fixation on him. The parallels he drew from it only did to make his stomach drop and drag on the ground behind him, and he couldn’t decide if he was more bothered by the fact that he was going along with this despite all that, or if it was to do with admitting that he was no better than Admiral Proudmoore’s headstrong daughter. Then he decided it was best to try not to think about it at all.

The creak of hinges groaned from somewhere upstairs, followed by a series of brisk footsteps. A male voice called down from a higher landing: “O brother mine, is that you, home at last?” There was definitely a sarcastic twang in the unseen speaker’s tone.

“Aye, aye, ‘tis me. Forgive my lateness, brother!” the acolyte shouted back, brushing away the snow dust that was clinging to his hood with the back of his hand. Obviously, he was not at all concerned with the other tenants that might have been sleeping then.

“Only if you managed to garner the flasks I sent you out for,” the acolyte’s brother snapped. For all of his younger brother’s imprudence, the elder had a very no-nonsense air to him. “Now get up here! Hilde’s been waiting to see you since her ship landed on the noontide.”

Obediently, the Kirin Tor acolyte mounted the stairs, motioning for Heero to follow him up the rickety steps. “Don’t mind his ornery nature. He thinks he fills bigger boots than he wears,” he said in a sotto whisper as they climbed up to the third landing. Pausing for a moment, he also added: “And don’t be put off by Hilde. In the end, she’s just as much a misfit as you or I.”

Heero accepted this prologue with his usual somber grace, not at all interested enough in the acolyte’s brother or his friend to care a whit what kind of people they were. He trailed after the mage, shadowing him as he pushed open a door that had been left ajar for them. Instantly, they were thrust into a much more ambient space, golden in the light of only a few candles and a lantern that sat proudly on the floor in the middle of the apartment, surrounded by a scattering of lounge pillows and blankets. There wasn’t much else of note in the small room besides a sparse table and some cabinetry. Heero thought it doubtful that any of them actually lived in this place, a dubious notion in and of itself.

Squinting into the dark, Heero could just make out two figures framed in the windows lining the front of the apartment. The falling snow outside cast them in a pale, silver corona, denoting two very different creatures. The smaller one cut a familiar form – that of a lean young man – easily marking him as the acolyte’s moody brother, whereas the other lent itself to a more bestial shape. Heero couldn’t be sure, but he thought he could just make out the curl of a tail swishing behind the larger figure, a hint as to what the creature might be.

“About time you wandered back,” the hulking figure said in a pleasantly deep voice. Stepping a bit closer to the lantern with a footfall that sounded like the clatter of hooves, the speaker was liberated from the shadows, and Heero was actually startled to find himself in the presence of a mighty Tauren female. The gasp that escaped his lips at the sight of her quickly drew her attention, bemusement crossing her bovine features as she took note of the way the acolyte hovered near him. “I see you went and found yourself better company,” she joked, still eyeing them. “I wonder if it’s worth the trip across the sea to spend the holidays in Dalaran anymore….”

“You keep that bull ringed nose of yours in your own affairs, Hilde,” the acolyte quipped. He was playful, but the way he was purposefully standing between the Tauren and Heero was far more assertive than anything he could have actually said.

“It’s good to see you, too,” Hilde joked back, the beads and feathers of her leather robes jangling as she crossed her arms over her chest. Her black fur seemed to glow purple in the hazy light, enunciating the tribal markings that covered her biceps. Then, clasping her large hands together, she quickly diverted the topic: “Well, then, now that we’re all assembled, what say we get this party started? Let’s have those flasks of holiday bourbon.” She moved back towards the window and stooped to the ground, delving through what seemed to be a rucksack.

While Hilde was distracted by her search, the acolyte’s older brother held his ground, glaring through the candlelight with ice blue eyes that glinted sharply in the dimness. “I didn’t know you would be bringing a guest,” he hissed at his brother, clearly not pleased by Heero’s presence.

The acolyte groaned. “Really, Solo, it’s not as horrible as you make it sound,” he bemoaned, stepping closer to Heero still. He reached out to grab Heero’s hand, which startled him, but, surprisingly enough, did not bother him.

The frown did not leave Solo’s face as he grimaced, “You know why I don’t like it.”

The acolyte sneered and shot back, “And you know that I don’t really care.” His grip tightened around Heero’s hand, though it seemed like the reassurance was more for the acolyte’s benefit than Heero’s.

Hilde shattered the mounting tension with an exclamation of triumph that she’d found what she’d been looking for. Heero peered around the acolyte to see the Tauren approach the group with what seemed to a pipe, but far longer and straighter than any pipe Heero had ever seen before. It was carved of light wood and painted in red, white and green, a decoratively beaded feather twirling from the bottom, where it turned up into a bowl. “The village shaman blended a special herb for Winter Veil,” she was saying as she stood and plodded over towards the lantern to join the others. “I thought it would be a good gesture to bring it.”

The acolyte was grinning at Hilde as he dragged Heero to sit with him on one of the pillows around the light, urging him to take off his cloak and make himself comfortable. Solo moodily sat down as well, shooting dark stares at Heero and the acolyte, who was busy conjuring a selection of liquor bottles from nothingness. Heero wondered if they were another product of the mage’s wizardry or if they had been acquired by more dishonest means. The curiosity was almost immediately forgotten, tossed from Heero’s mind as something that really didn’t matter either way, especially once Duo started passing the first bottle around the circle. The burn of the whiskey on Heero’s throat was far more satisfying than the wine he had been guzzling at the ball.

Meanwhile, Hilde was pressing a bowlful of the special herb she’d brought with her into the wide end of the pipe with practiced ease. She held the pipe to her mouth and lifted one of the lighted candles to kindle the brew, inhaling in deeply as the herb’s piquant scent started to fill the air. Breathing out a lungful of the pungent smoke, she passed the pipe to Solo, who went through a similar ritual before handing it off to his brother. Heero watched from behind the bottle he had been nursing as the acolyte took a long hit, intrigued by this custom the Tauren had brought with her from Kalimdor.

“Want to try?” the acolyte asked, jarring Heero from his thoughts. The longhaired mage was holding the pipe out to him, the candlelight highlighting a particularly devious expression on his face. He seemed a bit less frenetic than usual, but Heero figured it was probably just the mood. He stared at the proffered pipe, debating whether or not he should partake in on a custom he didn’t fully understand while the acolyte briefly elaborated with, “It’s medicinal – calms your nerves.”

Still dubious, Heero ended up accepting the pipe, slowly lifting it to his mouth with the discomfort of someone who knew that all the eyes in the room were fixated on him. He had never smoked anything in his life before, and his inexperience manifested itself when his first mouthful of smoke left him coughing and grasping for the bourbon as so he could clear his throat. He thrust the pipe out for whoever would take it as he poured a shot of liquor down his throat.

“You need to breathe in all the way first,” the acolyte advised, his chuckling filling Heero’s ears as he felt the pipe leave his fingers. “Here, let me help you,” he added, hitting the bong again. At first, Heero thought that the mage apprentice was just trying to demonstrate how he ought to do it, but was startled to realize that wasn’t his plan at all. Instead of exhaling into the middle of the room as he had before, the acolyte leaned over towards Heero, lifting his chin and guiding his mouth so near his own, they were just short of touching. Then, with almost gentle delicacy, he breathed out for Heero, who found this method much easier to fill his lungs with the noxious smoke than with the pipe.

The effect was almost immediate, and the reactions of the other two and the pipe’s second round through their hands seemed vastly unimportant to Heero. Instead, he was more focused on the warmth of the acolyte’s fingers, which still lingered beneath his chin, and hoped he might be allowed another turn like that. This time, he wanted to breathe the acolyte in and hold him there, hoping that doing so would perpetuate the satisfying numbness that was rolling through his body. Already, he felt as if the problems and tribulations that usually plagued his conscience were draining from him, almost as if he were being cleansed. Vaguely, he wondered if that was the doing of Hilde’s medicinal herb or the acolyte’s heady breathing. It was with an almost needy groan that he accepted the acolyte’s offer for another taste, his entire body static with the thrill that ran through him when his lips accidentally brushed against those of his companion.

“Are you trying to test my patience?” came a voice Heero absently recalled as Solo’s. “I sincerely think you do these things to addle me!”

“You’re still too tense, Solo,” mused Hilde with a rather lackadaisical lilt to her tone. “I think it’s kind of nice watching them….”

Solo was clearly in disagreement, but he seemed incapable of doing much more than letting out a grunt of annoyance and muttering, “I still don’t like it. If someone finds that boy here like this….” He trailed off, distracted by the fact that it was his turn with the pipe once more.

Of course, all of Solo’s concerns were inconsequential to the ones at whom they were directed. Heero found himself half reclined in the pillows as the acolyte dipped in close, sometimes to share a hit with him, and sometimes just to nuzzle their mouths together. Other times, the acolyte would amuse himself by letting his lips graze other bits of Heero’s face: his cheek, his neck and clavicle; his fluttering eyelids and the tip of his nose. Heero liked the thrill of it, even as the herb’s influence started to ebb away.

Still, he might have lingered in that hazy bliss forever if it hadn’t been for the sudden awareness that his body was far more pleased with the acolyte’s touching than he had realized. Embarrassed that the acolyte might have noticed as well, Heero suddenly sat up, almost knocking over the bottle of whiskey beside him.

“What’s wrong?” the acolyte wondered, just as surprised by Heero’s sudden movements as Heero had been by the need between his thighs. He stared at Heero, wondering what he had done wrong: he hadn’t thought that he had done anything to victimize Heero and was confused by Heero’s abrupt change in attitude. A stray thought in the back of his mind suggested that he might have done well to spend more time helping Heero stay high than distracting himself with kisses and the occasional wandering hand.

“N-Nothing, I…” Heero stammered, his ability to speak tapering off when he realized that Hilde and Solo were looking at him as well. He was sure all of them knew exactly what had happened and fleeing, once again, seemed like the best option at the moment. Had he the pause to think about it, he might have found it ironic that his urge to escape had to do with wanting too much, whereas his need to leave Relena was laden with his inability to want anything at all. Quickly, he got to his feet and hurriedly thanked them for their hospitality. Then, without further ado, he quickly turned on his heel and left the apartment, skipping the stairs two at a time and bursting out into the wintery night without even remembering to put on his cloak before he left.

\--

TBC.


	14. In His Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Title: ** _ **The Forsaken** _

**Title: ** _ **The Forsaken** _

**Author: **Link Worshiper

**Pairings:** 1=2, maybe some others if I feel like it

**Rating: **PG-13

**Stuff:** Fantasy AU, fluff, sap, language, adventure, WoW nerdiness

**Disclaimer:** I own Gundam Wing action figures? Warcraft and its lore belongs to Blizzard Entertainment. Both things are being played with out of fangirl love.

Thanks to danse and Natea for the once over. Despite the fact this is part of Natea's birthday present, I still needed her to fill me in on the Alliance history they don't teach us on Horde, so thanks for that also =P

-

**ATTENTION: Since half the reason ffnet and I are not friends is because they pulled one of my fics down for being too sexy back in the old porn witchhunt days, this chapter has been heavily edited for posting here. **Not that I would ever get another 3000 fucking reviews on this story, as was the case with Smells Like Teen Spirit, but I'm not taking chances anyway. If you want to read the unedited, dirty, raunchy version of this, visit my LJ or my website. Both links are on my profile page. Otherwise, enjoy the vanilla version.

-

_Part XIV_

_In His Place_

-

Father Maxwell, the master of the Dalaran orphanage, was a man who lived to truly uphold his principles in every aspect of his life. He wore drab robes and ate plain, hearty food. No cushy apartment in the one of the classier sections of the city for him, despite the fact that his fine standing with the Kirin Tor could have easily afforded him one. Rather, his quarters were above the orphanage dormitories, where he lived humbly with the children no one else wanted. If he could have kept all of them, he would have done so easily and felt as though he were the richest man in all of Azeroth, but alas, he had only been granted two: a set of brothers who had turned up at Krasus' Landing on a Winter Veil night a little over fifteen years before. At times, he almost forgot that they weren't actually his kin because he loved them so, prouder of their accomplishments and growth as much than any other father might be. Tonight they would celebrate those twenty years together with a fittingly modest dinner around the Maxwell table and the festivity of the holidays, even as the murmurings of unrest in Lordaeron lingered beneath the air.

"I cannot believe how fortunate I am to have you boys, even at the behest of all the strange circumstances that brought our small family together," Maxwell toasted, lifting his flagon high over the wooden table at which he broke bread with his two sons. "One to help me care for the other children, and another learned enough to tutor the students of the Kirin Tor," he continued merrily. "O, how the Light smiles upon us!" With that, he drank deeply of the ale in his mug, a signal that it was alright for his two sons to begin eating as well.

As the scrape and tinkle of knives and forks across porcelain filled the room, Solo turned to his brother and lifted an eyebrow. "Tutoring?" he queried skeptically. "Who are you tutoring?"

"You wouldn't like it if I told you," the younger brother answered snidely, pointedly focusing on sawing at the meat on his plate.

"Oh, come now, that's not so," Maxwell chided, finding parental amusement in the way the two boys bickered like children a fraction their age. He turned conversationally to Solo and tried to fill him in, saying, "You most certainly would know: it's�""

"--none of his business!" the young acolyte interjected, slamming his knife into the table. "I don't need my big brother hassling every aspect of my life as if I'm incapable of handling anything on my own."

Sensing his brother's need to be confrontational, Solo jabbed a finger at him and hissed, "You're ruining our birthday feast."

Father Maxwell was just lifting a hand to settle the dispute as a frantic knock bounced against the other side of the apartment door. Maxwell twisted around in his chair, confused by the sound. He had been fairly certain that all the children had been put to bed, and was thus concerned immensely by the sound of the tiny hand against the wood. Quickly forgetting the trite argument between Solo and his brother, he got up and strode towards the door, leaving the two young men to settle their differences while he investigated this new matter.

He opened up to reveal a small girl with red hair standing in his midst. She was a bit older than most of the other children at the orphanage, but still too young to be expected to take care of herself. She clutched a rolled parchment in one fist, and though it wasn't particularly extraordinary, the blue ribbon and seal that held it fast denoted it as an official document. Maxwell furrowed his brow a the sight of it as the girl held it out to him, distracted by how out of place this presentation was. The affairs of the Alliance had no place in the hands of a child. "A message?" he wondered, hoping his voice wasn't shaking as much as he thought it was.

"The man in silver and blue brought it on his yellow horse," the girl said. "He said it's for Brother Solo and that he wants to talk to him after he reads the letter." She grinned toothily, clearly pleased with herself that she'd remembered the entire message. Her happily squinted eyes blinded her from the apprehensive grimace that washed across Maxwell's face, which was probably for the better. His voice deceptively even, Maxwell called to Solo, interrupting the sibling feud by calling him over.

"What's this?" asked Solo as Maxwell wordlessly handed the scroll to him. The tall blonde broke the wax insignia holding the blue ribbon fast and unfurled the paper, his face growing somber as his blue eyes quickly scanned over the words penned there. By the time he was through, the corners of his mouth had fallen into a deep frown, the only expressive feature of his otherwise blank countenance.

Eventually, the young acolyte, left alone at the table, grew unsettled by the dark mood that had fallen over the room. Standing, he stomped over to the doorway, swearing, "By the _Light_! What in Elune's name is going on here?" He snatched the parchment from Solo's hand without even so much as asking to look at it, but its message, though not addressed to him, had a similar effect on the acolyte that it did his elder brother. "This… this can't be," he murmured in disbelief.

"What can't be?" piped up the small redhead, whom the three adults had almost forgotten once the parchment had been opened. Knowing that the discussion was about to take a turn he didn't want a child to be a part of, Maxwell quickly grabbed the girl by the hand, ushering her into the hall. "Let's go to bed, darling," he said, walking as quickly as he could towards the dormitories. He had known what the parchment's message would be the moment he'd seen the Alliance crest. In a way, escorting the girl back to bed was almost as much an escape for the orphanage master as it was for his ward.

Solo was still frozen in the same place he'd been for some time, even as his brother started on a tirade. "You can't do this, even if it _is_ an order from the seat of Lordaeron!" he yelled, waving the parchment around carelessly. "If their own army isn't enough, then maybe they shouldn't embark on this campaign at all. You'll just be cannon fodder for some inexperienced clod to whet his appetite for glory."

Glancing at his brother, Solo answered dully, "That 'inexperienced clod' is to be none other than Prince Treize himself. If the king is willing to send his son, I doubt he would instill a draft unless it was dire." He then turned his attention back to the doorway, which still stood open, his eyes glassing over once more. "I should probably go down and meet that soldier waiting outside." He lifted one foot as if he meant to plod forward with doing just that.

Sharp with anger at the whole situation, the acolyte was too fast for Solo, and he quickly positioned himself in the doorway to keep his brother from leaving. "Don't you dare take another step," the acolyte hissed, glowering up at his older brother. "Not one more unless you want me to follow you all the way to Lordaeron! And then to wherever after that!"

The threat was enough to at least elicit a real reaction from Solo, who knit his eyebrows with malcontent when he registered what his brother was threatening. "You'll do no such thing," Solo snapped with more of his usual bite. "You're a mage! Of course they wouldn't send one of the Kirin Tor's own all the way to _Northrend_ to quell a rumour…."

The acolyte didn't like Solo's argument one bit, exerting his anger on the parchment, which he violently crushed into his fist. "So you're saying that just because you're a commoner, it's perfectly acceptable for them to drag you a thousand leagues from home just to satisfy the curiosity of some spoilt _prince_?" he growled, his fingernails cutting through the paper and into his palm.

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying �" and speak nothing ill of the prince like that! He is to be honoured, even if he is not our own," Solo barked back. He then grabbed his brother by the collar and attempted to wrest him from the doorway. "Step out of the way! I'm going!"

"I can't believe you actually _want_ to," the acolyte protested, holding himself as steady as he could.

"Could be a chance for this _commoner_ to be somebody!" Solo argued back, taking his frustrations out on his brother. He certainly wasn't thrilled at the thought of being taken into the army against his will, but he knew it was his duty to perform and that there were things at work far greater than just he. "You know, not all of us can be accepted into the elite fold of the Kirin Tor!"

But the younger brother was no fool and he knew a ploy when he heard one. "Now you're just being absurd. You know you don't want this �" no one would! It's not our kingdom, and it's not our fight!"

Solo took it upon himself to quiet his brother in the best way he knew how, reeling his fist back and landing a fierce blow into the younger man's cheek. "Quiet," he ordered, taking no pity on the acolyte as he nursed his bruised face with one hand. "If the stories of plague spreading in the countryside are true and the source of it is in Northrend, then it is most certainly a trouble that extends beyond the borders of kingdoms, and we fight as much for Stormwind and Dalaran as we do Lordaeron! If Prince Treize needs able-bodied men to aid the investigation, then that is my place," he said, grimly cutting through any protests his brother thought to voice. "And you are quite aware that your place is here �" here, with your duties and responsibilities. Even more so if I must leave, and you very well know it." His stare was unwavering, reinforcing the weight of his speech with the resolve in his eyes. Batting away his brother's obstructing arm, Solo pushed by him and into the dark hallway. A wistful smile crossed his face as he reached out to touch the acolyte's shoulder and said, "We cannot afford to lose more than we already have. I leave protecting that in your custody."

With those words, he started for the stairs at the end of the hall, refusing to even look over his shoulder as he left his brother behind. The acolyte roared with anger, the force of his energy snuffing out all the fire in the wall sconces that lit Solo's path. "Don't you dare die," the acolyte yelled after his brother. "Or I will kill Treize myself, prince or otherwise!"

His threats reverberated through the empty passage, answered only by the shadows he had created. Clenching the balled up mandate even tighter into his fist, he suddenly spread his fingers and willed the parchment to burst into flame. Then, taking two vehement strides towards the hearth inside the Maxwell apartment, the acolyte hurled the smoldering paper into the grate, where it exploded into a curl of unnatural green fire. Face licked by the eerie glow, he glared at it, maliciously watching it burn and hating that stupid piece of paper for tearing his family apart, while Solo set out for Lordaeron with the soldier waiting outside.

-

Heero had not been himself since the Winter Veil Ball.

It had been a slow progression. In the days following the ball, he had fallen into a state of denial, refusing to even acknowledge the things that had happened under the influence of Hilde's herb. He had written off any enjoyment he had experienced with the acolyte as a direct correlation to the strange high smoking the blend had induced, which just seemed much easier to simply accept than trying to unravel its complexities. But work he might to clip out the memories, he was aggravated to find that his mind still continued to dwell on them the harder he fought to forget them. The lack of control was enough to drive him mad, and whenever he found his thoughts wandering to the acolyte - thinking of where he was and what he might be doing right then - it was all he could do to curse his very existence for confusing him so. He was ready to trade almost anything for the firm grip he once held on things, unsure how one person could push his life so off balance. It was taking a lot out of him to keep his footing, even as he continued to slip down this path, and it didn't take long for Helen to catch wind that something was amiss.

The most tangible and noticeable signifier of all this could be found in Heero's studies. Usually a student of such high caliber that Helen had yet to realize he had no interest in magic, Heero's indifference was starting to peek through the cracks. Class was the last place he wanted to be, and whenever he attended, he spent more energy trying to avoid people like Quatre and Relena than actually investing himself in learning. He knew Quatre had an inkling that something was wrong, and there was no way he could face Relena after such an embarrassing interlude, so he figured the best plan would be to simply dodge the confrontation altogether. It was unhelpful that the very thought of Relena only did to remind him of the acolyte and the fact that he could stir things in Heero that Relena could not. That fact made Heero nervous and uncomfortable, unsure what exactly that meant. Surely it wasn't natural, anyway, and the confusion only made him more depressed.

Nor was it much better that the best solution Helen had managed to come up with for all this was to arrange for Heero to have a tutor. She had thought it a great blessing that one of the Kirin Tor's most promising acolytes was in the care of her good friend, Father Maxwell, completely unaware that that very same acolyte was the one that was at the center of Heero's tormented universe. She had not sufficiently prepared him with this bit of information either, and had merely given Heero an unfamiliar name and time at which he was supposed to be home for this remedial study, hoping it would somehow revitalize Heero's ambition. She had no idea that she had only fed the beast.

So it was with great malcontent that Heero stayed in that first evening, despite the fact that his restless soul wanted nothing more than to aimlessly wander Dalaran in hopes he might somehow lose himself in the process. He paced about his small chamber, clapping his hands against his arms and chewing his lip as the hour dwindled nearer to a session he was surely going to spend in chains. He managed to get himself so worked up that when the knock finally sounded on his door, he froze, his innards swelling with the panicked frenzy of someone who was trapped and yearned for escape. And yet, it was all he could do to stare at the door handle as it slowly twisted downwards and gave way to the one he would be spending the evening with. At the sight of the acolyte's smug face, Heero felt like he wanted to both breathe a sigh of relief and die at the same time.

"How do, my lord?" asked the acolyte, lingering in the doorway long enough to drop a rather exaggerated bow. He was dressed in his familiar apprentice's robes and carried a satchel made of frostweave, which was packed tightly with a number of books, parchments, inks and quills. Heero focused on the silk stitching of the bag in an effort to keep his traitorous eyes from meeting those of his new tutor, even as the visitor swaggered into the room like it was his own familiar territory. "Sister Helen just let me in and told me where you were," he prattled on as if he had no idea how bothered Heero was. Setting his bag down with a rather startling thump, he leaned on the writing desk by the door and added, "So what say you we get started?"

Heero said nothing and simply dragged a stool over to the desk. Sitting down, he crossed his arms and waited for the acolyte to take the lead. He didn't trust himself to keep his composure if he relinquished even a little bit of his composure, and the last thing he wanted was to end up admitting things to the acolyte he didn't fully understand himself. Besides, what little rationality he still possessed demanded that he at least observe the acolyte a little before addressing the two-ton war mammoth sitting in the middle of the room. Perhaps he would be fortunate enough to determine that everything that had been bothering him since the ball had been an elaborate hallucination. Then things could go back to normal.

But normal simply was not to be. Even during those first few sessions, Heero found himself highlighting everything the acolyte did with tortured clarity. From the way he would lean over Heero's shoulder to monitor his inscription work to even the most accidental of touches - which, to Heero's mind, hardly seemed accidental at all - or even the mere way the acolyte would look at Heero just before he left, Heero couldn't help but wonder just what sort of game his tutor was playing at. It was almost as if the acolyte was trying to test Heero as well, and with the way the pair of them were dancing around each other, they were reaching a fast stalemate. It was only a matter of time before one of them cracked.

The inevitable culmination of all their past interactions manifested itself on a day that had started as innocuously as any other. The acolyte had appeared in Heero's doorway with his frostweave bag right on schedule, and, as per usual, Heero wordlessly took his direction and observed, all the while hoping he wouldn't give himself away with any suspicious behaviour. He had actually come to look forward to his tutoring sessions, even if he knew he was just a masochist for allowing the acolyte's presence to domineer his thoughts so. Even still, he tried to make an effort to suppress his natural skills in hopes that it would prolong his time with the strange apprentice. Unfortunately for Heero, crafty as he was, the acolyte was far craftier.

"You know," the acolyte drawled from his spot on the edge of the desk, "if I wasn't any wiser, I might say that you didn't need my help at all."

Hearing this, Heero froze halfway through casting a spell. The pitcher of water he was levitating suddenly dropped from the air, its metallic hull clanging loudly against the wooden desktop, its contents splashing across the nearby acolyte's lap. "Wh-what makes you say that," Heero said, straightening his back and smoothing out blue fabric of his short tunic.

"Oh, no reason," the acolyte answered with a shrug, though the glint in his eye suggested otherwise.

This ambiguous answer annoyed Heero. Scowling, he said tightly, "Well, if you think that, then why do you keep coming over here to help? I'm sure your brother isn't happy with your visits as it is." He spat out the last part almost vindictively, a reference to the way Solo had treated him the night of the ball. It was the closest either of them had come to bringing it up since it had happened.

"My brother is in Northrend with the Lordaeron army," the acolyte glossed over smoothly, hardly batting an eyelid at the remark. "He has no control over what I do - or just whom I do it _with_."

But Heero's thoughts were far from Northrend and Prince Treize's campaign there, much too occupied with the suggestive twang to the acolyte's comment. There had once been a time where he had found such airs annoying, but now he found them in almost everything his tutor said and latched onto them with a fervor he couldn't quite explain.

A dangerous smirk crossed the acolyte's face as he slid off the edge of the desk, striding closer to where Heero stood. "It would seem that you have no control over me either," he continued with a sly lilt, "even though you wish you did."

Heero blinked and swallowed, suddenly very aware of the fact that the acolyte was standing behind him, breathing heavily into his ear. Heero stiffened his back and held his arm aloft like he meant to channel another spell, but found he was unable to focus properly. The acolyte had helped poise him for proper spellcasting with similar proximity before, but this time was different - Heero could tell.

"An inexperienced caster wouldn't have the poise you do when you throw a spell," the acolyte murmured, his husky voice tickling the long bangs that lay across Heero's temple. He reached for Heero's wrists and held them in upturned palms and continued, "Nor would an amateur have such sharp focus when channeling magic...." Suddenly, one of the acolyte's arms tightened around Heero's waist, pinning their torsos together. He hissed, "It's been hard enough keeping my distance without your teasing. And you are." His lips grazed Heero's jawbone as he finished raggedly, "A horrible, horrible tease, that is."

Heero felt like a bird sitting just inside the toothy maw of a great crockalisk, afraid to move lest he tempt the monster to chomp down, and yet was still enticed by the rush such danger instilled in the pit of his belly and between his thighs. He was slightly panicked with embarrassment that the acolyte's possessive grip excited him so, still unable to tell if he was being beckoned or a victim of the acolyte's frustration. Tentatively daring to test the waters, Heero gasped through his tightened throat, "You're hardly any better."

But the acolyte wasn't falling for such reverse trickery, tightening his hold on Heero as he said, "You're not the one who has to keep himself from drinking every time he wakes up alone," he pressed darkly, his words melting against Heero's warming skin. "You're the secret I keep - the one I've wanted since I was old enough to know what that even meant - you and only you." The hand that wasn't fixed around Heero's middle found its way beneath his chin as the acolyte murmured more of his confession, "I don't care that my brother doesn't approve or that we're supposed to lead separate lives in different castes: as long as the cinders of my broken heart burn, I will pine for you." He kissed the corner of Heero's eye: "Naegriel moe," he whispered in Thalassian as his lips fell across the contour of Heero's high cheekbone. "Estelio han," he breathed, his fingers gently angling Heero's face more towards him. "Estelio veleth;" the acolyte's lips quested for Heero's, seeking a taste - permission, even. "Estelio...."

Heero's ability to understand language, or to even rationalize the world around him, was seared away the moment his panting mouth met the acolyte's. His entire body trembled with the need that had crippled him the night of the Winter Veil Ball, and though he was just as confused and insecure now as he had been then, his instinct to flee and save face was soon neutralized by the discovery that his body's reactions were not unique. However, unlike Heero, the acolyte actually seemed rather eager to make Heero aware of the hardness between his thighs, unabashedly rolling his hips against the contour of Heero's waist as if he meant to flaunt it. Even the mere thought of it was enough to make Heero pour a heady groan down the acolyte's throat, while he, in turn, started to tug at Heero's belt, yanking it off with a leathery hiss.

"Do you want it?" the acolyte growled into Heero's ear, snapping Heero's belt against the floor like a whip. He tossed the leather strip around Heero's waist, catching the belt buckle with his other hand so that he might pin Heero against him: "Do you want it as badly as I do?"

The urgency of the acolyte's craving was trapped between their bodies, and it was driving Heero mad with a hunger he found both alien and natural all at once. Again, all he could do was whimper indistinguishably against the acolyte's mouth as he hung about the other's neck.

The acolyte gave Heero a stiff jerk, drying their sloppy kisses as he met Heero's eyes with his own. "Say the word, my prince. Say that you will belong to me," he panted, his passion-clouded gaze sharpened by a glint of severity. "For I will not take what will not be given."

The words entered Heero's ears and almost immediately dissipated, and he nodded his head for the sheer fact that he didn't like this halt in affection. Whatever the acolyte wanted to offer him, he would slurp up greedily. The exhilaration that was mounting up inside of him seemed almost too much for his mortal body to bear, and he longed for the release only the acolyte's generous hands seemed capable of massaging out - especially as they wandered up beneath the hem of Heero's tunic, teasing the waistband of the leggings he wore underneath. Heero grunted with surprise when the acolyte's hands tightened beneath his ass, lifting him up and forcing Heero to kick his legs up around the other's waist, but he easily fell into a new rhythm as the acolyte stumbled towards the bed. He was no longer self-conscious about his aroused state, in fact pleased that the acolyte could surely feel it now that it was pressed against his abdomen as he carried him to the other side of the room.

Flinging Heero down onto the soft mattress, the acolyte dropped to his knees on the floor, positioning himself between the legs that fell awkwardly over the edge of the bed. With abrupt, unfettered motions, the acolyte yanked his robes off and eagerly flung them aside, stripping down to the neophyte's shirt and hose he wore underneath. Then, too drawn in by the longing way Heero was looking up at him, the acolyte grabbed Heero's ankles and started yanking at the leggings that encased his shapely legs. His savage treatment of the garment snapped the laces that held them tight around Heero's waist and ripped some of the seams, but neither of them noticed, concerned only with disposing of them as quickly as possible.

Discarding of the leggings in a similar fashion as he had his robes, the acolyte threw Heero's legs over his shoulders, practically dragging his student off the bed as he went down on his cock. When the acolyte swallowed it whole for the first time, all the thoughts that were floating through Heero's mind suddenly exploded in a burst of colour he had never seen before, and his hands fisted the sheets as though he thought he might fall through the clouds without anything to hold fast to. He thrust forward, wanting more, and the acolyte seemed more than happy to drag him in closer, eventually pulling Heero onto the floor in an avalanche of pillows and blankets. Hardly missing a beat, the acolyte pressed himself closer to the ground and threw Heero's legs even further apart as he roughly tongued the other's balls and the proud vein that ran underneath his erection. Then, all at once, the acolyte roughly grabbed Heero's engorged cock and held it steady, his waiting mouth lingering above it just as the chorus of moaning that rising from Heero's lips reached a voiceless crescendo to match the climax between his thighs.

Tangled in the sheets he'd pulled with him to the floor, Heero hung against the side of the bed like a crucified angel, beautifully posed amid folds of burgundy and gold. His tunic was bunched up around the middle of his heaving torso, exposing the rest of his naked body, but his hope that the sight was pleasing to his lover far outweighed any embarrassment that might have still lingered within him. Panting, he watched the acolyte with an even, trusting stare, waiting - _hoping_ \- there was more to come. Exhilaration began to gurgle in his stomach the moment the acolyte crawled back to cover him with his lithe body, the friction of his tutor's clothes against his own bare flesh enough to reawaken his fervent libido.

"You're all I need, blue eyes," the acolyte purred into Heero's ear, rolling his hips against Heero. There was no hiding the desire trapped up in the acolyte's hose or the dampness that clung to the fabric that confined it. A fumbling hand wormed its way between their bodies, grasping for the waistband of that last barrier between them, eliciting a groan from the acolyte at the relief. He sat back for a moment to tug his leggings a bit further down his thighs so that his erection might rise freely from its confines, a sight that made Heero lick his lips. Catching Heero's stare, the acolyte smirked and fisted his cock, giving it a languid stroke for his student's benefit. Then, bending so that he might lift Heero's legs over his shoulders again, he pressed an equally unhurried kiss to his mouth. "It's all for you - every inch of it - only for you," he slipped against Heero's tongue.

Bracing himself against the side of the bed with one hand, the acolyte let his other one trail down the length of Heero's body, wet with the fluids of their earlier debauchery. Heero whimpered as one of the acolyte's slick fingers penetrated him teasingly. It was a strange, even uncomfortable sensation, but Heero didn't mind, aroused by just the intimacy of it, more so when the acolyte pressed a second and third finger into him, and then began to piston them back and forth: Heero thought he might come again at the mere thought of what such a motion simulated.

Heero wouldn't have to wait much longer to reach such heights again. He barely had time to lament the removal of his master's fingers before the tip of his impressive cock was massaging its way between the cheeks of his ass. This intrusion was much larger and thicker than the acolyte's fingers, but his eagerness to be filled with it far outweighed the initial torture of it. The acolyte's name bloomed again and again on Heero's lips as his lover pushed himself deeper and deeper, rising into a scream of unbidden pleasure when he thrust up against Heero's prostate. His entire body clenched with satisfaction, greedily hoping to keep the acolyte's cock for himself eternally. It was only Heero's anticipation of being fucked again that he allowed the acolyte to withdraw at all, though in the brief moments he was without, all he could do was beg to have it done faster - faster, and much, much harder. It was all the acolyte could do oblige, for, though he had never before buried himself in such a tight sheath, his only concern was pleasing his sweet prince. To the acolyte, the sensation of Heero brutally pulling at his long hair as he came was more satisfying than even his own release.

Collapsing against Heero once they were through, their bodies and clothes sticky with sweat and cum, the acolyte nuzzled his student's cheek affectionately. With a chuckle, he whispered, "'Tis a funny wonder you would call your slave 'Master', when it is I who lives to serve you." He let his hand slip beneath the tunic that was still bunched around Heero's chest, rubbing the pads of his fingers across one of Heero's erect nipples as he added, "Whatever you desire - whether you wish to mount me and ride my cock all night, or if you'd rather me on my knees while you fuck me from behind - it is yours. I am but your plaything, Heero."

Achieving its desired effect, the comment went straight to Heero's groin, which only did to excite both of them again. He grabbed a fistful of the acolyte's hair, urgently wanting to be covered by his body once more. Heero wrapped his arms around the acolyte's neck, knowing that nothing else would do now that he had experienced the depths of the other's love for him. He wondered if he had the capacity to return such affection, but was quick to dispose of such a worry: now that he'd been caught, he was sure it didn't matter where they landed now. He was sure there weren't words to express what this moment meant to him anyway.

-

If Quatre Winner ever got annoyed, then this was the closest he ever came. He had been sitting on a bench near the Krasus Landing gate for almost two hours, patiently waiting for Heero to show up. They had been invited to a great banquet in Lordaeron to celebrate the homecoming of Prince Treize and what had been reported to be a successful mission to Northrend, but Quatre had wanted to go early in order to see the prince ride back to the city and the welcoming parade that would surely accompany him. However, glancing up at the large clock that ticked away above a nearby storefront, Quatre frowned, knowing that if this kept up, they would never make it to Lordaeron in time to see it. He was tempted to just get up and make the journey himself, but he knew that wouldn't be any fun at all. Besides, Heero had become so scarce in the past few months, he had truly been looking forward to spending the day with his wayward friend. But considering how much Heero had changed since Winter Veil, he supposed he shouldn't have been so surprised by the way of things.

Still, Quatre couldn't help but think this was getting a bit ridiculous. He couldn't imagine what had happened to Heero to make him so distracted as of late, but he was suddenly overwhelmed with resolve to figure it out. There was obviously some irregularity in Heero's life that had him by a string, since Heero had been more than ready to accept the invitation to Lordaeron the week prior. It wasn't Heero's way to make plans he did not have every intention of following through with, which was more than enough proof to confirm Quatre's suspicions. Purposefully, he got to his feet and immediately started marching in the direction of Helen's apartments: if he was going to miss Treize's arrival in Lordaeron, Quatre was certainly going to make sure Heero heard all about it.

Rapping on the front door with the stiffness of a military man, Quatre mentally prepared himself for the speech he was going to deliver to Heero the moment he saw him. He was not surprised that it was Helen who answered his call and even less surprised by her response when he asked if he might speak with Heero.

"Oh, I'm afraid he's not in," she said apologetically. "To my knowledge, he stayed the night with his tutor so they could get some early morning review in at the library before you were to go to Lordaeron. Why, did he not meet you?"

"I've been waiting since midmorning," Quatre said flatly, hoping he didn't sound too disrespectful. "I was beginning to wonder if something had happened to him…."

Helen seemed to miss the nuance of Quatre's comment, instead shaking her head with the forgiving air of a mother. "He has been rather dedicated to his studies since he started working with that tutor. He's been wonderful for Heero," she said with a proud sigh. "I'm sure you know him: he's one of Father Maxwell's wards…."

So that was it! Quatre was less than shocked to hear that mischievous apprentice had something to do with Heero's behaviour. Come to think of it, Heero's mysterious scarcity always seemed to circulate around his studies, and now Quatre knew exactly why. Practically interrupting Helen, he thanked her and curtly turned on his heel, striding with even more purpose towards the Dalaran library. If that damned acolyte was responsible for any of this, then he had just managed to elevate himself on Quatre's hit list.

With so many people gone to Lordaeron to partake in the festivities, the library was even more quiet than usual when Quatre got there. All the better for Heero and his wayward friend, Quatre thought as he started to comb through the aisles of shelves in search of them: it would mean that there would be less ears present to hear the verbal lashing he had in store. It wasn't long before he heard their all too familiar voices from not so far away. With ferocious conviction, Quatre immediately turned in the direction they were coming from and yanked the nearest book from the shelf to glare through to the study nook on the other side. The moment he laid eyes on them, however, everything he had come to say was almost instantly forgotten.

"Ready to review so quickly? What a premier student," came the acolyte's voice, though it was quickly apparent that books were hardly the focus of this particular lesson. Quatre felt an unwitting swallow drop down his throat at the sight of the acolyte coming up behind Heero to wrap his arms around his waist, his head buried affectionately against his shoulder in a fashion that Quatre was surprised Heero would even allow. He was impressed by how serene and content Heero looked in the embrace of that longhaired apprentice.

Quatre barely had time to let his mind settle on the idea of two males being so comfortable around one another before he was getting an eyeful of just how intimate their relationship was. He chewed the inside of his cheek, unable to glance away as Heero leaned back to brush his lips against those of his tutor. He hadn't thought that sort of thing was done, and yet, found himself intrigued by the notion. He wondered what it meant that his mind was conjuring a rather obscure memory from the Winter Veil Ball: a brief conversation he'd had with some redhaired noble of Silvermoon and a thought as to what he might be doing at that very moment.

That was the last thing Quatre remembered thinking before the whole world went to hell. For right then, there was a loud shout and a bang as someone came crashing into the library in a great panic. "Treachery! Treason!" the newcomer screamed from somewhere outside the labyrinth of bookshelves. "The King of Lordaeron is dead, murdered by his own son! The city burns!"

Anything else the herald had to say was drowned out by the sudden panic that overwhelmed the people to whom this news was fresh. Heero and his companion suddenly jumped at the commotion, their attention trained in the general direction of the hubbub. The acolyte seemed particularly chilled by this announcement, and had it not been for the subtle way Heero was gripping his hand tight in his own, the Kirin Tor apprentice might have torn out on a rampage right then and there. "There is nothing to be done here," Heero muttered to his lover. "Calculated warfare should be met with calculated countermeasures."

The acolyte grit his teeth but knew that Heero was right. Even though his initial concern was what had befallen his brother if the one who had lead his battalion had come home to betray his own kingdom, he knew that he could not adjust whatever fate had come to him. However, there was still time to make sure that his retaliation was the proper one.

It was then that Quatre chose to take his stand and reveal himself. Striding around the bookshelf he'd been lurking behind, he coughed and made his presence known, though in the light of what had just happened, his intentions had drastically shifted from his original purpose. Ignoring the startled way Heero and the acolyte received him, he said, "There is nothing to fear. Dalaran will stand against this new threat, as will Silvermoon and Stormwind. My father will make it so."

Though this assurance was given in good faith, the acolyte's reaction was far from welcoming. "You will do no such thing: this I already know!" he snapped, angrily digging beneath the collar of his robes for the initiate's pendant he wore around his neck. Snapping it off its chain, he flung it onto the nearby desk and drew an ice rune through the air with sharp jerks of his finger, casting a vindictive dagger through its middle. "Damn the Kirin Tor for its godforsaken neutral diplomacy! You wouldn't ally yourself with Stormwind or the Sunbenders of Quel'thalas any sooner than you would orcs!" he roared as the ice blade dribbled beads of frozen water from its pommel. He crushed his hand into a fist, shattering the ice dagger into hundreds of shards that rained across the now deformed pendant and the scored desk it lay upon. "By the time you settle to do anything, half of Azeroth will have fallen to this mad prince," he muttered, distractedly stalking away from Quatre.

Heero shot him a glare and then snatched up his lover's pendant before striding purposefully after him. He didn't mean Quatre any ill will, but he didn't also didn't expect anyone to understand what he shared with the acolyte the same way either of them did. Truth be told, he was frightened and unprepared for what this sudden twist might mean for any of them, though it was certainly something he would never admit aloud.

Catching up with the acolyte, who had stormed out of the library and was already halfway down the grand staircase that led to it, Heero huffed, "What are you doing?"

The acolyte stopped, his face more somber than angry now that he was faced only with Heero. "I don't follow your meaning," he said, sounding tired.

Thrusting the ruined pendant out towards the acolyte, Heero deadpanned, "Unless it was your intention to be cast out of the order, that was completely tactless."

"That's quite an accusation coming from you," the acolyte said with an affectionate chuckle, reaching out to clasp Heero's hand in his. Pressing the Kirin Tor pendant between their palms, the acolyte guided Heero down the steps. "But what's done is done," he shrugged. "I just suddenly wonder what good it is to be a great mage of the Kirin Tor if they never take any measures to exercise that power. I'm tired of standing around with my hands in the air when I know they are more than capable of shaping a solution."

Then he said no more and Heero was filled with a melancholy that threatened to send him toppling head over feet down the stairs.

Later, despite the panic that was consuming the rest of Dalaran, Heero and the acolyte found themselves locked in Heero's chambers, clothed only in afternoon sunbeams and dust motes as they made love sprawled across his bed. They hardly spoke as they tumbled across the duvet, falling into a rhythm that was almost forlorn �" a silent expression of the uncertainty they both felt. All the while, Heero could hear hushed voice of his lover whispering the Thalassian promise of trust he'd sworn to him the first time they'd fallen into each other's arms, and he clung to it like it was the only truth he'd ever known.

And yet, when that same feeling of unease roused Heero in the middle of the night and found him alone in his bed, he could only sit in the darkness and stare at the diamond shaped pools of starlight leaking across his blankets. He knew where he was and why the acolyte had probably left, yet he had never before felt so lost and abandoned in his life. He'd crossed a line he had never intended to cross with the acolyte, and now that there was no returning, he elected then and there to steel his jaw and stop trying to care altogether.

Meanwhile, the acolyte was already leagues away, standing on the Southshore docks with nothing but the clothes on his back and the Kirin Tor pendant he'd pocketed as a keepsake from happier days. A great ship with black and crimson sails was moored in the harbour, a brigade of soldiers in red and white regalia loading it with supplies for the long voyage northward. Striding up to someone who looked in charge, he said, "I heard there was a faction of soldiers dedicated to eradicating the undead plague that has fouled the land was sailing for Northrend on the morning tide. Be this the brig that will bear them hence?"

The older man the acolyte was speaking to happened to be the captain of the ship, and he took a moment to look the stranger up and down before answering. "Aye, that be so," he said slowly once he'd decided that the acolyte had passed his inspection. He jerked a salty thumb at the ship, briefly explaining, "That be the _Sinner's Folly_, the flagship of Jaybendis, High General of the Scarlet Crusade. We sail for Northrend in hopes we can bring about a swift cleansing of Azeroth by our own methods without the hindrance we've found here."

The acolyte didn't need to hear much more. "Where do I sign up?" he asked flatly.

The captain gave him another once over and then grinned, his stretched lips revealing scurvy teeth. Digging into his coat, he pulled out a small ledger and said, "Right here, lad." He flicked open the tiny book and removed a broken pencil, which he held clumsily over the pages as he asked, "And your reason for joining up?"

"My brother," the acolyte answered swiftly. "Treize, that cur, forsook him to whatever poison has stolen peaceful rest from the dead just to feed his own ambition. I will see justice served �" _revenge_, even." His conviction was firm and impassioned, the only thing that was fuelling him through the grim realization that his brother was never coming back from Northrend.

"And your name?" the captain asked, scratching something down in the ledger with scratchy lettering.

The acolyte took a moment to pause, closing his eyes and remembering his family �" his brother and the man who had raised them like a father �" and solemnly composed a new name for himself: one that would adequately serve to honour them even after he cast away his old life on these soon to be forgotten shores. Then he took a deep breath and spoke at long last:

"Maxwell. My name is Duo Maxwell."

-

TBC

-

Note

Duo's Thalassian is actually Sindarin Elvish, which I referenced from Tolkien's work because it is the basis for Warcraft's Elvish tongues. Read the Simarilion for more info.


	15. As Dead As Leaves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Title: ** _ **The Forsaken** _

**Title: ** _ **The Forsaken** _

**Author: **Link Worshiper

**Pairings:** 1=2, maybe some others if I feel like it

**Rating: **PG-13

**Stuff:** Fantasy AU, fluff, sap, language, adventure, WoW nerdiness

**Disclaimer:** I own Gundam Wing action figures? Warcraft and its lore belongs to Blizzard Entertainment. Both things are being played with out of fangirl love.

Thanks to danse and Natea for the once over. Despite the fact this is part of Natea’s birthday present, I still needed her to fill me in on the Alliance history they don’t teach us on Horde, so thanks for that also =P

\--

_Part XV_

_As Dead As Leaves_

\--

“So that was the way of it,” murmured Heero, still lying flat on the bed in Thelsamar, staring up at the dwarven ceiling overhead. His eyes stung a little bit, but his mouth was drawn into a tight line of ambivalence as he assessed what he’d just learned. He didn’t deny Duo the anger he felt at the discovery that Treize had banished his entire platoon to a curse of undead servitude, but similarly, was unable to ignore his own resentment at being so abruptly abandoned. At the time, it had made him feel unimportant and tossed aside, which, the longer he’d lived with it, had only manifested until such despair had rooted itself too deeply in his heart to be easily cut away. Forgiving Duo would be easy enough: it would be dislodging that pain dealt with for so long that would prove difficult. With casual indifference, he sat up and asked blandly, “Well, then? Did you grasp the revenge you sought?”

“Not even obliterating the Lich King would bring my brother back from his hellish grave. My time with the Scarlets proved that,” Duo said grimly from the spot he’d assumed on the edge of the bed. His skeletal and fleshy hands were pressed together between his knees as he stared down at the floor. “In the end, we accomplished nothing, damned to the same fate as all who seek to end Treize’s rein over the dead. Even selling my soul for the same kind of power wasn’t enough…. Nothing is ever enough….”

Heero didn’t move, barely even turning his head to glance at the undead warlock who had once been the most important person in the world to him. He didn’t care to hear anything about the Scarlet Onslaught or even how Duo had met his ultimate end; he just wanted some time to think. In the five years since he’d last seen Duo, he’d given him up for dead. Never did he imagine he would meet the acolyte again, and never, ever like this.

Letting out an ironic chuckle, Duo murmured, “Heh, I guess no matter how hard you try to force the hand of fate, fate still wins out in the end.” He glanced over his shoulder, his eye sockets flickering a bit more softly than usual and then dimming to mere embers at Heero’s unresponsiveness. The torn flesh around his mouth contorted into a frown and he muttered, “Or maybe I am just fortune’s fool.”

Abruptly, Heero sat up, inspired to comment at last. “You know, all this time, I had so much I’ve wanted to say to you – things that, without you there, weren’t much worth saying at all,” he said, his stiff posture reminiscent of the stubborn rogue that had crash landed in the Sepulcher than the youthful Dalaran scholar Duo used to know. “And yet, now that I am met with your ghost, it is as if I am completely without poetry.”

Duo reached out for Heero, but his skeletal fingers only brushed empty air as Heero withdrew, turning away to glare at the other side of the room with a very pensive scowl scratched across his face. His shoulders drooping, Duo let out a heavy sigh: “Heero, I’m sorry,” he pleaded as his hand dropped limply to his side. It was strange, but Duo thought he felt a stirring in his chest that he hadn’t known since he’d died. “Forsooth, in the name of everything I’ve done, I offer a thousand apologies.” Then he whispered softly, “You’re the only one I ever wanted, Heero. But, you have to understand, even when I resented his ways, Solo was still my only brother….”

But as he watched Heero’s silent, almost nonexistent reaction to his pleas, it was with painful clarity that Duo then realized that Heero had been left just as dead as he for the past five years. He wished there was a way he could prove to Heero that his intentions were no different beyond the grave than they had been when they had breathed together, though he supposed it was stupid hoping that Heero would have thought otherwise. With a low growl, he blindly reached out to pound the nearby wall with the butt of his fist, frustrated that death had forever dried the tears he longed to shed. Not that it even mattered if Heero wouldn’t so much as look at him.

Heero, however, had long since fallen to another plane of reality, staring at nothing, and yet seeing everything so clearly. The room was twinged with a hazy green that seemed to sharpen his vision as a familiar whisper – the very one that had whispered into his ear when they’d left Menethil Harbour – hissed vibrantly in his ear: _‘Aren’t you tired of starting somewhere new over and over again? It only cracks your heart more and more….’_ Heero let out a small gurgle of agreement, and the voice continued pulsating throughout his brain. _‘Why allow him to shape your reality? Crush him the way he crushed you, and let him know what real despair is….’_

At this, Heero sucked in a sharp breath, a dangerous smirk beginning to twist away his frown. Slowly turning around to face Duo, Heero’s lips pulled back to reveal an unfamiliar sharpness in his canine teeth, his eyelids unveiling red irises that burned with unnatural fury. “I will always be alone,” he growled in a voice that echoed with a fel timbre; “That is how you left me, and that is how I will stay!” With that, he suddenly leapt for Duo, teeth bared like he meant to sink them into Duo’s throat.

It didn’t take long for Duo to realize that the Epyon demon had managed to latch onto the turbulent emotions their unexpected reunion had awakened in Heero. He dove for the floor, narrowly avoiding Heero as he careened into the oaken headboard. Blindly groping for his staff, Duo watched as Heero mindlessly shook off his collision and repositioned himself at the edge of the mattress, poised to make another leap for Duo. The warlock was barely able to swing his staff around to bar Heero’s attack, the wooden pole the only barrier between Duo’s face and Heero’s snapping teeth. With a mighty shove, Duo hurled Heero off, sending the rogue flying into a chest of drawers on the other side of the room. Heero landed awkwardly on the ground, slumped against the furniture piece in a mess of painfully twisted limbs. But any pain he might have felt at such an impact seemed not to matter to him, for he was soon clambering to his feet again, panting hard and even more enraged than before. Pulling down an axe that had been hanging on the nearby wall, Heero grasped the weapon in both hands, getting a feel for it as he prepared to charge again. His demonic eyes made him look not at all like himself, a curling black aura that resembled an ifrit hovering in the air above him, influencing his mindless onslaught.

The very sight of the monster was enough to bring Duo to his wit’s end, ready to fight fire with fire. The Epyon demon was a creation of the Burning Legion’s dark overlord, but Duo’s own power was also cut from the same mold, a discipline he had traded his old elemental magic for after realizing that it would never be enough to stand up to the Lich King. Learning how to command demons of his own might have been unorthodox – even hypocritical – under the banner of the Scarlet Onslaught, but their zealous obsession with obliterating Treize far outweighed any moral code they may have once adhered to, and it was with ease that a number of Scarlet priests and mages fell to this dark study. And unsurprisingly, it was none other than Duo who had forged the path for the rest, using the talent that had earned him the mark of the Kirin Tor to become one of the most deadly warlocks of the Onslaught. “Forgive me, sweet prince,” Duo whispered before he began muttering the spell that would summon his own fel warrior from the dark chaos that birthed the Burning Legion.

Soon, a black portal of nothingness had opened up beside Duo, and out from its depths stepped a tall, horned figure that carried a broadsword and wore blood red armour. Steeling himself, Duo pointed at Heero and gave the command, “Subdue him.” Almost instantly, the fel guard started lumbering towards Heero, who was practically frothing at the mouth for a fight.

No sooner had their weapons met with a violent clang did the door of the room suddenly burst open, revealing a trio of confused and riled dwarves demanding to know what was going on. “I told ye not ta trust the likes o’ that ghoul!” one of them shouted as they all pushed into the room, their faction allegiance immediately leading them to assume that it was Duo who had instigated the mayhem. They started to rush towards Heero’s side, and it was only a fierce yelp from Duo that saved their necks from the bite of Heero’s madly swinging axe.

“You must have a death wish!” Duo hissed as the dwarves fell back, trembling a bit. They stared at Duo, aghast, almost as if they were unsure that assisting an undead Horde loyalist was much better than being killed. But the more they saw, the reality of the situation became all the more apparent, and it was with reluctance that each of them unsheathed blades and axes of their own.

\--

As another desert fly whizzed by Trowa’s face, he instinctively slapped it against his cheek, too irate to even notice the sting of his fingers against his skin. After three hours of waiting alone by moonlight at the mouth of the Badlands, Trowa was starting to wonder what had become of Heero and Duo. He had expected to beat them to the end of the loch easily, but he hadn’t thought they would be so far behind, and the longer he loitered, the less he liked it.

“Knew those dwarves would be trouble,” he grumbled to Heavypaw, frowning back at the huge loch behind him. He rocked back and forth on his heels, hating that he already had sand between his toes before even setting foot in the barren desert that would make up the next leg of the journey. He shook one foot, though it did nothing for the discomfort in his boots, glowering at the loch once again. “If we have to go back,” he continued for Heavypaw’s benefit, “it will only be so I can kill the pair of them myself.”

Heavypaw let out a monstrous yawn, which was completely unhelpful to Trowa. The elf turned his discontented stare to his pet, but the animal barely took notice. Groaning, Trowa rolled his eyes and turned back towards Loch Modan. “Why do I suffer fools so easily?” he demanded of the sky, his hands upturned claws of frustration. Angrily he kicked a small rock by his foot, and though he managed to send it aloft, the pain that shot through his big toe was far more noticeable. Reluctant as he was to admit it, he knew he wouldn’t sleep well if he went on his way knowing that he had left his best friend to fend off dwarves with only his silly human pet to aid him. Even more reluctantly still, he worried what that priest would do if he found out about it. With another long sigh, he started to trudge back towards the loch, Heavypaw trotting obediently at his heels.

As he neared the hills that cradled Thelsamar, he heard shouting long before he actually laid eyes on the town itself. Now more than certain that there was an altercation of some kind going on, he picked up his pace, sprinting down into the gully with his bow at the ready. His eyes darted around, searching for Duo or Heero, but the streets were empty even as the sound of commotion became more and more prevalent. The paradox of his surroundings was more than enough to put the blood elf on edge, and he didn’t like it one bit.

Suddenly, a pair of dwarves burst out of a nearby building, hurrying right by Trowa as if they didn’t even see him, despite his height. Trowa tracked them with narrowed eyes, turning around as they rushed towards another building further up the street. “Hey. _Hey_!” he shouted after them, nocking an arrow and aiming for their backs. “You there! Dwarves! Stop!”

The two dwarves, a male and a female, skidded to a halt, turning around with restlessness that seemed to have more to do with urgency than fear. Amazingly enough, the female didn’t even wait to hear what Trowa had to say, despite the arrow that he had directed at her chest. Instead, she asked, “Are ye here t’elp us wif th’ demon wot possessed our guest?” She looked him up and down, obviously thorough enough to note that Trowa wore the colours of Silvermoon and not Stormwind despite the fact that it seemed completely irrelevant to her. “Ye best be,” she went on. “I kin tell ye that he’ll be killin’ all o’ us a’ this rate.”

She then quickly turned around and continued on her way, while the male dwarf lingered long enough to add, “She be speakin’ th’ truth, lad.” He pointed back towards the building they had just left, directing Trowa to it: “That way if’n your bow be ready,” he said before hurrying after his female companion.

Trowa lowered his bow as the scurried off, an ironic smirk quirking his lips. _‘Lad?’_ he thought with a snort; _‘I have certainly lived four times over what they ever will.’_ Shaking himself of such distractions, he turned his attention back to the building the dwarves had indicated and started for it, absently noting that it was the village inn. Yells and the skirmish of battle echoed from deep inside the building, which burrowed straight into the rock of the hills, and he quickly followed the sounds to the top of the stairwell in the back.

“Ready, friend?” he asked Heavypaw as he padded up to Trowa’s side, tensed for action. Sensing the lion’s eagerness, Trowa nodded and took a running leap over the edge of the stairs, dropping into a low crouch when he hit the floor, while Heavypaw darted around the angular flights to meet his master at the bottom. Then they both charged forward, instinctively attracted to the vigor of battle straight ahead.

By the time Duo had noticed his presence with a surprised gasp of his name, Trowa had already assessed the situation and taken action, throwing his bow to the side to launch himself headlong into Heero. He tackled the possessed rogue to the ground, knocking the axe out of his hand and the breath from his lungs. The dwarves that had been trying to fend Heero off tried to rush in to back Trowa up, but the elf sharply ordered them back as he gripped Heero harshly by the throat. “You’re making all our lives difficult,” Trowa growled as Heero tried to fight back despite the tightening fingers around his neck.

“Trowa, you’re going to kill him!” Duo shouted from the other side of the room. His fel guard demon loitered beside him, erect and unmoving as a statue as it awaited its master’s next command. Wringing his hands as he was wont to do when aggravated, Duo snapped, “I thought I told you that it wouldn’t do for _anyone_ if he turns up dead!”

“I remember,” Trowa bit out, though he didn’t relent his hold on Heero’s neck. “But this nonsense will cease right now!” Turning his attention back to Heero, who was still struggling against him, Trowa redirected the sentiment: “Do you hear me in there, human? You will desist!” He lifted Heero’s head just enough to crack it against the floor, hoping to dislodge the demon’s grip on Heero’s mind. “I know it is difficult to ignore the whispers, but for the love of the Sunwell, you must do as I say!”

The dwarves watched with almost shellshocked horror as Trowa continued to scream at Heero’s blank face. But as he lingered, the demonic aura began to envelope both of them, and then Heero’s lips began to move, though the voice that escaped his mouth was strange to all of them. “Why do you resissst the chaos, Prince of the Sssunbender clan?” it hissed at Trowa, whose grip on Heero’s throat slowly loosened at the sound of it. “Leave me be, and together, we can fight on behalf of the desspair of your people….”

It was the mesmerized expression on Trowa’s face that finally compelled Duo to take a stand, Slamming the butt of his staff against the stone floor, he shouted, “Trowa, don’t listen to it! That’s exactly what it told _Heero_, and look where it got him!” Knowing his words weren’t going to be enough, Duo cast his staff aside and marched right up to Heero and Trowa, appearing behind the latter to cuff him in a tight head lock. “If you lay another finger on him, I swear to Elune, Trowa, I will break your damned neck.”

Trowa seemed to not hear Duo or even be cognizant of the arms wrapped dangerously around his neck, threatening to squeeze. Rather, he was transfixed on the demonic, red eyes glowing in Heero’s skull, almost as if they were luring him. He suddenly had no interest in Heero whatsoever, too consumed by the promising offer the demon had just laid out for him. The Sin’dorei were so desperate as it was, the prospect of aid – even from the most undesirable of sources – was tempting to the prince of the nearly extinct race. Or so the demon was leading Trowa to believe. Dully, Trowa’s hands slipped from Heero’s throat, aching to latch onto another: specifically that of the one whose arms were now fastened around his own.

“If I knew you were going to be so meddlesome, I would have left you behind!” Duo growled, tightening his hold around Trowa’s neck as the elf started to stir. His voice dropping into a low growl, he said, “Don’t think I’m above killing you, Trowa Sunbender: you’re toeing a dangerous line with the caustic way you toss Heero about, and I don’t like it.” He suddenly jabbed a bony knee into Trowa’s back, cracking his spine over it as he yanked back on the elf’s head. The onlooking dwarves had stepped far back, taking in the scene in a trance that somewhat mirrored Trowa’s. They were almost unable to believe that a Forsaken warlock would quarrel with a blood elf over the wellbeing of a human. Such a thing was almost more surreal than the presence of a demon.

As all this was going on, Heero watched with the eyes of a somnambulist. He was vaguely aware of Trowa trying to choke him and that he and Duo were now grappling with each other, though he wasn’t quite sure what had initiated the fight. Somewhere, beneath the crushing sadness that had overwhelmed him, a little piece of him knew exactly what was going on, though try as he might to shout that he was in there, no one seemed to hear. He felt as though he was being stretched, his heightened emotions ebbing in and out of him like an erratic breath. But the more he struggled, the more he simply lashed out: his flailing legs threatening to buck both Trowa and Duo onto their backs, his punches raining down forcefully upon whatever he could reach. He was frustrated and terribly frightened by the lack of control, but such negative emotions only egged the demon inside further on. With Trowa and Duo busy trying to choke the life out of each other, it left Heero plenty of freedom to shakily clamber to his feet, panting heavily as he instinctively threw himself into the chaos without even a care or moment’s hesitation.

“Back, I say!” Trowa roared, throwing Heero off just as the possessed rogue was about to sink his teeth into his shoulder. But disengaging Heero’s attack wasn’t enough for Trowa, who quickly turned his back on Duo to refocus his rage on Heero. Pulling a small dagger from the inside of one sleeve, he charged at Heero, blade poised for attack. He barely managed to get more than a few steps in, because no sooner had he made his intent clear did Duo snatch him by the hood of his cloak and yank him flat onto his back. Once Trowa managed to recapture the air in his lungs, he used his first breath to gasp up at Duo, “You’ve either lost your mind in death, or you truly are cursed! It is as if you would have me fed to the dogs before that troublesome human!” Dragging himself to his knees in a most ungraceful and un-elf-like fashion, he jabbed a finger at Heero and hissed accusingly, “What duty is it that puts that cur above your greatest friend?”

Duo aggressively swiped his hand across Trowa’s chest, grabbing a handful of Trowa’s tabard to haul him to his feet and lock his burning stare with Trowa’s unimpressed one: “It is not duty that compels me,” he said tightly before letting his passion get the better of him. He then exploded helplessly, “T’is only _him_ that could make me do as I do.”

As these words left his lips, from the corner of his eye, Duo barely caught a glimpse of Heero faltering behind Trowa. Suddenly, he let out a grisly roar, throwing his head back like he was trying to banish the demon from his person, and amazingly enough, the haunting obeyed. The fog of the demon’s presence lifted from his face and evaporated into nothingness, leaving Heero to grasp desperately for something to lean on lest he collapse to the floor. Chest heaving, he clawed his tunic in search of the heart he didn’t believe was still beating, all the while sucking in enormous gulps of air and staring at nothing.

It was one of the dwarves who thought to break the awkward tension that still lingered in the destroyed bedroom. With a hardly subtle cough, he stepped towards Heero, asking, “Lad, be ye yerself again?”

But Heero, still panting harshly, only stared back at the dwarf as if he didn’t understand the words. Trowa narrowed his eyes at the dwarf before shooting Duo a dark stare and abrasively knocking Duo’s loosened fingers from his clothing. Without a word, he whistled for Heavypaw and snatched up his bow, marching back towards the stairs with a disgruntled air no one but him understood. Duo frowned after him and then let it go, returning his attention to Heero, who seemed more in need of him than Trowa anyway.

However, Heero didn’t seem to share the same mind as Duo. As Duo tried to reach out for him, Heero bit out abrasively, “Leave me alone!”

The dwarves scattered at Heero’s command almost immediately, leaving Heero and Duo alone once more. At first Duo thought Heero was still shaken from his recent encounter with the demon but for the look in his eye that was sodden with uncertainty and distrust. He wanted to believe that the wounded expression on Heero’s face might have been a sign that the demon was still there, though he knew that the truth of it was because of him. A sharp pain thumped in his chest: he didn’t want to let it bother him, yet he still thought he might explode. Hoarsely, he breathed, “Heero, why do you turn me away?”

The corners of Heero’s mouth were weighted with malcontent. “If you have to ask, then you’ll never know,” he said coldly, furrowing his brows angrily.

“Heero,” Duo rasped, suddenly more aware of his fate’s burden than ever before. “Please, you have to believe that my word is true – that I never meant to leave you alone.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you did,” Heero retorted carelessly, leaning heavily against the foot of the bed as he continued to fight for a solid breath. “You stepping out of the shadows and back into my world after five years doesn’t make me any less so, either. The hole you bore into my soul will leave me forever a misfit whether you’re here or not, dead or alive.”

After feeling nothing since the day he’d died, the dizzying sensations overwhelming Duo at these harsh realities were almost too much for him to bear. He wanted to sit down, but rather made a show of picking up his staff so he could lean upon it instead. “I’ve given all I can,” he murmured, a masochistic reminder of everything he’d fought so long for. “I’ve given all I can and all been for naught.” He paused for a moment, silently entreating Heero to trust him the way he once did, crestfallen to find that worn out darkness was all that remained for him in the rogue.

“You stretch your words like rubber,” Heero said flatly. “Your promise to help free me from this demon’s curse is worth no more than your promise to love me. With such hollow vows, I might as well save what little of my self still remains on my own.”

“You learned to trust me from nothing before,” Duo returned, disheartened by the barricade that now loomed between them. “Why does only a memory shatter all that you have come to know of me?”

“You did this to yourself,” said Heero with a glare flashing in his dark blue eyes could have seared flesh. “You and no one else.”

With a huff that sagged his bent frame even more, Duo persisted, “But I want to make it right!”

But Heero’s only answer was to snap, “What the hell are you still doing here? You don’t belong here.” He added almost inaudibly, “Not anymore.”

It pained Duo to think that he had been the one to break Heero so, and it was with a heavy heart that he finally turned away from the rogue. If only there were a way to make his words sound as sincere to Heero as they were to Duo, but he knew the hope was futile. Unable to even glance back at Heero, Duo whispered in parting: “Whatever makes you happy, my prince: whatever you want.”

Drifting like a spectre, Duo aimlessly stumbled out of the room and back up the stairs to the inn’s lobby. There was a dwarf sitting behind the front desk as if everything was normal, which Duo secretly resented with a hateful passion that was so intense, he nearly gave into the impulse to set the unaware dwarf aflame. It was only with the greatest of self-control that he managed to walk out to the street without upsetting the delicate armistice that still lay, unspoken, with the dwarves of this town. He was unsurprised to find that Trowa had long since ventured on without them, and it was only then that he was truly struck with the gravity of how alone he was.

So alone, that he’d managed to lose even himself.

\--

TBC


End file.
